No God Above
by TheIbis2010
Summary: Éponine doesn't scare easily. She can't, especially since she's being forced by her father to assist in the criminal activities of Patron-Minette. When Thenardier seeks revenge against a mysterious man from his past named Monsieur Fauchelevent, Éponine is forced into a scheme of armed robbery. But the presence of a certain young man, Marius Pontmercy, may prove to be a challenge...
1. Two Gamines

**February 2, 1832**

**Chapter 1: Two Gamines**

**A/N: All characters and their origins in this story are the creations of Victor Hugo. I do not own them, nor Les Misérables. **

* * *

Éponine ran, breathless, up the boulevard with Azelma. That had been much too close, even for them.

"I don't think they're following us." She whispered to her sister. "Are they?"

Zelma turned her head for half an instant, than shook. "No, 'Ponine. We lost them." She smiled. "We got away clean."

"Did you deliver all your letters?" Éponine asked.

"I did, thank God. Now he doesn't have a reason to get angry with me."

"I envy you." Said Éponine sourly. "I still have these few left."

Azelma glanced down at the papers clutched in her hands. "What?" She demanded. "Why couldn't you finish?"

"Because I-" Éponine began, but before she could explain any further, she felt her elbow collide with some unfortunate passerby; a young man, by the looks of him, with poor clothes and unruly dark hair. The impact sent the remaining letters tumbling out of Éponine's hands. He glanced at the two of them for a moment, no doubt startled by their frightened expressions. Or perhaps he was just awed by the sad state of their clothing; dresses little better than rags, skirts tattered beyond repair, hair wild and tangled, and filthy bare feet.

Éponine resolved not to look at the man. It would only attract more attention to herself and Azelma, and unwanted attention at that. Pretending as though she'd taken little notice of the young man, she said to her sister in a low voice:

"I couldn't deliver them all because the cops came 'round. They just missed nabbing me at the half-circle."

Zelma nodded. "I saw them. I beat it out of there."

They were speaking in argot-Parisian underworld slang-in the hopes that the young man, even if he overheard them, wouldn't be able to understand them. But there was always a risk...

Trying to completely shake him off, Éponine grabbed Azelma's arm, and they plunged into the trees along the side of the boulevard, getting closer to the Gorbeau tenement, that crumbled shack they called their home.

Papa was waiting for them inside. He sat on his usual stool, smoking his pipe. '_So little food in the tenement, and yet there is still tobacco_.' Éponine thought to herself. She'd give anything to make it the other way around. But what in the world did she have left to give?

Her father looked both agitated and bitter. He usually looked like that when he had to send his daughters out to work. Maman crouched in the corner, trying in vain to make the fire brighter. She didn't look up from her task, except to gaze longingly out the window, or angrily at her husband.

Thenardier sat up when the two gamines walked in. "Well?" He demanded. "Did you get it done?"

Éponine was about to explain, when she realized that the remaining begging letters, about four or five of them, were missing. She'd dropped them when she'd passed that fool of a peasant boy!

She willed her heart to beat slower. She knew better than to admit her fault to her father. The few times she had been brave enough to do that had never ended well.

"Yes. We handed all of them out. Every last one." She cringed at the sound of her own falsehood. She'd never been a good liar, even back when they lived in Montfermeil.

Thenardier nodded. "Good. Should I be hearing a reply soon?"

Azelma, the clever girl, realized what Éponine was doing, said "Yes."

"Who am I impersonating?"

"Fabantou, the dramatic artist." Éponine said, blurting out the first false name she could think of.

Her father snorted. "I suspect some eighty-year old bourgeois will arrive with a handful of flowers to praise me for my career."

"We could eat the flowers." Azelma said thoughtfully. "The flowers in the Luxembourg smell awfully nice in the summer. Do you think they would taste as good?"

Thenardier gave his daughter a withering look. "Are you always this stupid, or is it just the hunger? Pshaw, don't answer that." He waved his hand at them in a dismissive gesture. "I expect to hear a reply to Fabantou soon. If not, then we send another letter. And if that fails, then I'll have to strike some deal with Patron-Minette. Brujon too, maybe. Remind me of that tomorrow."

Éponine froze. "Why tomorrow?" She asked.

"Because we're meeting them at noon. Montparnasse, the dandy, knows of a nice place that could be worth pinching." Thenardier flicked a glance at Éponine, and sneered. "Course, his tastes are not all that refined, are they?."

Éponine balled her fists, but remained silent. Papa had said much worse to her than simply hint at what went on between her and Parnasse.

"Right then. You two go on and sleep. You've taken up enough of my time tonight." And with that, Thenardier turned around in his stool, and resumed his smoke.

Later, when Papa and Maman were asleep, Azelma whispered to Éponine, "Do you know who that boy was we met today?"

Éponine turned on her bed to face her sister. "No. Why should I?"

"Because he's our neighbor. He lives next door."

Éponine sat up, memories stirring. "The student? The one who paid our rent six months ago?"

"The very same." Azelma said.

Éponine slapped her hand to her forehead. "I wish I'd known that when I saw him. I would have liked to thank him."

"He would have thought you were mad. He's never met you, he doesn't know what you look like or even your name. All he knows is that there's a poor family named Jondrette living next door, and that they had a money problem."

"Aye, I suppose that's all there is." Éponine conceded. "But why would he use his money on us? Don't you think he needed it?"

Azelma shrugged. "Beats me. Maybe he just wanted to help."

"But why?" Éponine insisted. "He wasn't in any trouble. He didn't have to help us."

"Go back to sleep, 'Ponine." Was Azelma's only response.

But Éponine wasn't finished yet. "Do you know his name, by any chance?" She asked her sister.

"Papa once told me his name was Monsieur Marius. He didn't know the last name."

"Marius." Éponine repeated, more to herself than to her sister. "That's a nice name."


	2. The Scum of the Street

**February 3, 1832**

**Chapter 2: The Scum of the Street**

**A/N: Victor Hugo never gave the names of the two younger Thenardier boys, and I didn't want to steal any names another fanfic author might have created, so I had to come up with them myself. Don't hate me for it.**

* * *

"Let go of me, you elephant!" Gavroche shouted at Gueulemer. "This is the last good vest I have, and it ain't spring yet!"

The Herculean flashed him an ugly smile. " All you have to do is come with me quietly, Monsieur Gavroche." He said sternly. "Or disappear more quickly next time."

Gavroche rolled his eyes. "Good thing _you _never need to disappear, Gueulemer." He teased. "With your brains, you'd mistake the river for a bush and try to hide in it."

Gueulemer simply ignored him. Most of Patron-Minette did. He did, however, tighten his grip on Gavroche's arms as he led him down the road to the Faubourg Saint Antoine.

For years, Gavroche had attempted to run away from the web of crimes that his father, Thenardier- known to some as Jondrette-had created in his hovel at the Gorbeau tenement. It wasn't as though he was greatly wanted there; his mother had never loved him, and though his sisters always pitied him and wanted him to stay, their compassion was no match for the iron will of Madame Thenardier, nor the greed of their father. Gavroche and his two younger brothers, whom Thenardier simply called "Premiere" and "Deuxième"-first and second, although their names were really Samuel and Nathan-were often cajoled into assisting him on various small assignments. It was rarely anything beyond lowering a rope for a getaway or saying where the best place was to pickpocket someone, but Gavroche saw what Éponine and Azelma were going through. As the years passed, the situation would get worse, and the faster that Gavroche disappeared into the streets of Paris for good, the better.

Gueulemer and Gavroche finally reached the place; it was an occasional haunt of Patron-Minette, and if it actually had an address, Gavroche didn't know it. As the huge man swung open the door, Gavroche saw that he was the last of the clan to arrive. Papa, Mamma, Éponine, Azelma were all assembled around the room, in company with Montparnasse, Babet, and Brujon. Claquesous was nowhere around, but that was nothing new. No one ever saw him unless he wanted them to. Even the two little boys were there, in tow with La Magnon, their "mother", who was nothing more than a bitter old woman who used the boys as a funding means from some old bourgeois. Gavroche had never met Magnon before, and she was beyond doubt the scariest and the ugliest woman he'd ever seen.

"Ahoy there, my little momes!" Gavroche called to his brothers. "This old bat treating you well?"

Samuel, who was the elder, glanced up at Magnon. She said nothing, and simply glowered down at him. He stuttered "Y-yes, monsieur."

"You look cold." Gavroche observed. "That's not good for when it's February. You should come stay in my elephant, if you ever get the chance."

Nathan's eyes widened. "You live in an _elephant_?" He asked, amazed.

Gavroche nodded. "The stone one, by the Place de la Bastille. It's a nice spot, even if there are rats."

"What are rats?"

"They're like large mice, only meaner, and blacker."

"Why don't you get a cat to eat them?"

"I had a cat once." Said Gavroche sadly. "But the rats ate her."

Nathan stepped back, mute.

Thenardier cleared his throat. "Well, now that we're all here." He began. "We should discuss what's coming up next. Montparnasse, you told me you have a suggestion?"

Montparnasse stood up. He'd been a gamin once, like Gavroche, only he'd started to like knives more than the streets. He couldn't have been more than twenty-one, but he was one of the four most feared criminals in Paris.

"I was drinking at a café yesterday." Said Montparnasse. "Down by the Rue de Babylone, when I overheard a drunken lancer speaking with his regiment. It was all the old bawdy stuff, you know, till this lancer fellow gets around to some grisette he'd seen from a window one day. She lives on Rue Plumet, he said, in a great house with a wrought iron gate."

Thenardier whistled. "She must have a fortune, this grisette, if she's living on the Rue Plumet. What was this lancer's name?"

"His friends called him Gillenormand. Theodule Gillenormand."

"Well then," said Thenardier, rising from his seat and raising a glass. "A toast! To Monsieur Gillenormand, our unwilling benefactor!"

He took a swig from the mug, and passed it around the table for his accomplices to drink. "Rue Plumet..." he muttered. "Is that important for any other reason? Any other ripe spots, or is it just a biscuit?" He asked, to no one in particular.

"It's where that philanthropist lives." Azelma chimed.

"The one of the Church Saint Jacques?"

"Yes."

He nodded."Met that old fellow at a Mass last week. Kind chap, but a bit dodgy; his coat was threadbare, but he was still throwing away his money to the poor." Thenardier suddenly laughed cruelly. "It's funny, don't you think? A beggar who give alms! But how the devil do you know where he lives? I doubt you followed him."

"I was trying to swipe his wallet, and I saw the address inside." Azelma explained.

Thenardier nodded approval. "Good. Did you find out his name?"

Azelma shook her head.

Thenardier's face darkened. "Did you give this philanthropist a letter, after I spoke with him?" He asked dangerously.

Azelma nodded, relieved that she had a suitable excuse.

"When will he reply?"

"He didn't he would." Zelma said. "He didn't even bother to open the letter. He just said that he would stop by Gorbeau House some time soon to give blankets and such."

Thenardier spat. "That's all these blasted men ever care to dish out. Blankets and clothes? Why can't they spare a few francs, they're wealthy enough."

Azelma almost smiled. "They certainly are, Papa. You see, that girl Parnasse is talking about is the daughter of Monsieur So-and-so. I saw her with him in the church that day. She seemed like a nice person." Azelma reflected. "Very pretty too." She knit her eyebrows. "There was something almost... familiar about her, too."

Thenardier hadn't been listening to those last comments; he just clapped his hands in satisfaction. "Perfect! Two birds with one stone! When Monsieur the philanthropist, our alms-giving beggar, visits, and sees the sorry state we're in, he'll swear to come back with more next time. And soon, if I do some good talking. We can jump him when he returns, and his lovely daughter as well, if she's foolish enough to come. If not, then I think it's best to play a game of ransom with her. What say you, gents?"

Montparnasse, Brujon, and Gueulemer nodded their consent. Only Babet shook his head. "It'll be risky, planning something like that in that rat's nest of your tenement." He warned. "Does anyone else live there who might interfere?"

"None." Said Thenardier. Then his eyes narrowed. "Wait a bit...there is one. There's some student boy who lives next door, Marcus or Cassius or something like that. He's an inquisitive little fellow, and he's meddled in my affairs before."

"He paid our rent for us, you mean." Éponine muttered.

Thenardier rounded on her. "What was that, girl?" He demanded.

"Nothing." Éponine said immediately. "Just talking to myself."

Thenardier rolled his eyes. "Well, stop talking to yourself, before I send you to a mad-house."

"Yes, Papa." Éponine replied, and looked down at the floor.

Had Éponine looked up at that moment, she might have seen Gavroche looking at her quizzically.

"So," said Brujon. "What are we going to do with your young student? It's damn useless to stage a job only to have some young Robespierre walk in on it!"

"I say we gut him." A new voice said.

Everyone jumped. Standing in the doorway, leaning against the wall, was Claquesous, as dark and menacing as ever.

Thenardier regained his composure. "You're late." He told the criminal.

Claquesous simply shrugged. "I had business in Pantin. An exceedingly well-dressed gentleman had come down there in hopes of meeting a whore." He tipped them his hat, which made of the finest black felt. "He found me instead. He won't be needing this anymore."

"Yes, well, enough of your midday murders." Thenardier scowled. "Why do you say that this Marcus needs to be taken care of so badly?"

Another shrug. "You could take the risk of robbing the gentleman when the boy isn't there." Claquesous said. "Of course, that's no guarantee he won't come back. I say we do away with him. For safety's sake, of course." He added.

Thenardier glanced at his assembled gang and family. "We'll put it to a vote." He decided. "We're all jolly good Bonapartists, aren't we? All in favor?"

Brujon, Babet, Claquesous, Gueulemer, Montparnasse, and Thenardier all raised their hands.

Thenardier glared at Éponine, Azelma, and Gavroche, who abstained. "I said, _all in favor_?" He said menacingly.

Instead of responding, Gavroche wriggled out of Gueulemer's grasp, and sauntered over to Samuel and Nathan. "Well, that's settled. You're coming with me, momes." And he dragged his two younger siblings out of the ruin without another word.

* * *

Only after a few seconds afterwards did Magnon process what had just happened. "That street urchin just stole my brats!" She glared at Papa and Mamma. "What do you two crooks intend to do about it?"

Maman shrugged. "Go and reclaim them afterwards if you like. They're Magnons now, not Thenardiers. They're your problem, witch. Deal with them."

"How right you are." Papa agreed. He then turned his attention to his daughters. "Now, I want a unanimous decision in this." He warned them. "And unanimous is what I'll be getting, if either of you two sluts know what's good for you."

Eyes widening, Azelma raised her hand with the others. Éponine suppressed a sorrowful sigh. Poor 'Zelma; she was never good at standing up to their father about anything. Every time she tried, it only ended with a beating on her part.

Papa turned to face his only remaining opposition. He tapped his finger on his coat in a gesture of impatience. "I'm waiting, Éponine." He said, as though he was waiting for a child to show how foolish it had been, and should start doing whatever Papa told it to.

Éponine crossed her arms resolutely. "Monsieur Marius has done nothing wrong." She said stubbornly. "He doesn't deserve to die. He even helped us once."

"Oh?' Sneered Papa. "And you have a better idea?"

She took a momentary feeling of pleasure as she saw the surprised look on his face when she smiled. "I do, in fact."

He gestured Patron-Minette. "Would you be so kind as to share it with our friends?" He said mockingly. He clearly believed that she had no alternate plan, and that she was only stalling until he could get his way; an inevitable course, he always believed.

Éponine took a deep breath. She was, in fact, improvising, but this wasn't the first time she'd had to do some fast talking. And it helped to know that what she said was saving the life of their neighbor; a penniless young man who'd done nothing wrong. She wasn't sure what she was felt when she reflected on that idea; triumph, maybe? Only it was more...satisfying, and more heart-warming as well.

She looked at the stone-hard faces of Patron-Minette. "Six months ago, Monsieur Marius paid our rent for us." She told them. "We found out about a week later, but none of us ever bothered to thank him properly." She turned to her father. "You can write him a letter saying how grateful you are, and I'll deliver it to him. Once he reads it, and sees me, he'll think the Jondrette family is so far into poverty that they can't possibly have anything to do with Patron-Minette. They're too busy trying to stay alive to involve themselves with Pantin."

Papa nodded, warming up to the idea. "Throw the dog off the scent. I like that." He immediately grabbed some pen and paper, and hastily scribbled something down on it. "You will deliver this by tonight." He told Éponine. "And if this Monsieur Marius shows up at our door any time during the next few days, you'd better pray it's not when the philanthropist is visiting."

Éponine nodded. "I understand." She told him, and she took the letter into her hand.

"Good." Said Thenardier. He looked up at Patron-Minette. "That's all for now, comrades. I'll be sure to tell you when the charitable philanthropist is returning. Let's hope that he brings a large purse."

Patron-Minette said their farewells to Thenardier, and left. Montparnasse almost casually slid his hand down Éponine's back as he exited. She grit her teeth, refusing to let out the gasp of surprise she knew he wanted. He merely scowled at her, and was gone.

La Magnon glared at Papa and Mama one last time-no doubt blaming them for the loss of Samuel and Nathan-and left in the same direction that Gavroche had. Soon enough, the four Thenardiers began the journey back to the Gorbeau tenement.

* * *

**Please review! Any sort of CC is good.**


	3. In Which a Dreamer Encounters a Rose

**Chapter 3: In Which A Dreamer Encounters A Rose**

The next night, after dinner, Marius brought himself to tackle the new puzzle that entered his life; the mystery of the four letters.

After the two street-girls had rushed by him and dropped them, he'd picked them up in hopes of returning them, in the event that he should meet the owners again. But after reading the four letters, he had discovered several things. One, the letters were clearly not written by the girls; it was too obviously a man's writing, and what's more was that it smelled faintly of tobacco. Two, the letters were all asking the same thing: money for a person who had fallen on hard times. And thirdly, though the stories were all slightly altered, Don Alvares, Mother Balizard, Genflot, and Fabantou all had the same author, to judge from the paper and handwriting. Who was this four-faced beggar?

Since leaving the house of M. Gillenormand five years ago, Marius had known poverty, but he had never known crime. That criminal world that existed beneath Paris, Pantin, was one he had never entered or had any interactions with. So what could a pair of gamines have to do with that?

Marius suspected that some larger plot was at work. How innocent were these begging letters? He did not know.

Perhaps he would have formed his theory before the knock at the door. He did not know. But the knock came, and he asked, "What do you want, Madame Bougon?" Mme. Bougon was the irascible landlady of the Gorbeau tenement, and she often dismissed Marius's wish for solitude as foolishness.

"I beg your pardon, Monsieur..." Said a soft, thin voice which was not Bougon's. It sounded like an old man with a tone thickened by liquor.

'_Now who could that be?_' Marius wondered. Curious, he opened the door.

Standing before him was not a man, but a girl.

The girl was not very old. Marius doubted if she was any older than seventeen. Her clothes were a disgrace; a ragged old chemise and skirt, which would have been pitiful in the summer, but utterly tragic in winter. Her belt was a string, and her hat nothing more than a boy's cap, allowing her long dark hair to spill down her shoulders and across her chest. But even her hair, wild and long as it was, could not hide the rest of her painfully thin body. Bony shoulders, a deflated chest, a complete but yellowed set of teeth, and hands raw and red as a workingman of forty's. The one thing that seemed truly..._alive_ about her was her eyes. Large brown pupils darted across Marius's face in fear, as though he were about to grow horns and spit fire.

But the saddest thing about her was that she was not ugly. When she was a child, Marius decided, she must have been rather pretty. Now, her beauty seemed to wane behind all the rest of her sad self, like a rose forced to try to bloom in dirt.

Though he was not sure why, Marius felt that he had seen her somewhere before.

"Yes, Mademoiselle?" He asked her tentatively.

She held out her hand. "There's a letter for you, Monsieur Marius." She said in her strange guttural accent.

How on earth did this strange girl know his name?

Without asking him, the girl stepped inside. She observed Marius's room, not with any criticism, but with a kind of wonder, as though she marveled at the idea that one person could have so much space for themselves. She sat down on the side of his bed, and extended her hand again.

This time, Marius took the letter. He read:

_My warm-hearted young neighbour, most estimable young man!_

_I have heard of the kindness you did me in paying my rent six months ago. I bless you for it. My elder daughter will tell you that for two days we have been without food, including my sick wife. If I am not dissieved in my trust in humanity I venchure to hope that your generous heart will be by our afliction and that you will releeve your feelings by again coming to my aid._

_I am, with the expression of the high esteem we all owe to a benefactor of humanity,_

_Yours truly,_

_Jondrette. _

_P.S. My daughter is at your service, dear Monsieur Marius. _

A light was dawning inside Marius's head. He snatched up the old letters from yesterday and compared them with this new one. It was another match; the handwriting, spelling mistakes, paper, and even odor of tobacco was the same. All these aliases were in fact, Jondrette, his luckless neighbor. Was Jondrette even his true name?

Marius barely knew the Jondrettes, and only now did he realize that this odd girl sitting before him was one of the two gamines he'd seen yesterday, the other likely her sister. They must be the two Jondrette girls.

Marius placed the letters back on the desk, the wheels spinning around in his head. The plan was all laid bare for him to see now. Jondrette was a crook, that was obvious, for not only did he write fraudulent begging letters, but he used his own children as the pawns with which to deliver them. At their own peril as well, he remembered, recalling the hushed conversation the night before. And judging from the postscript Jondrette had left him -"_My daughter is at your service"-_Marius could not help but wonder what else the man had used his daughters for. Because of one man's trackless greed, two young girls were repeatedly stripped of everything; youth, virtue, identity, freedom, and much more.

Suddenly, Marius's hatred of Jondrette was almost as great as the pity he felt for the unfortunate person that was sitting on his bedside.

Without a word, the girl suddenly stood up, and began to walk about the room, delighting in almost every commodity that Marius owned. She checked her reflection in the mirror, attempted reciting from a book on the battle of Waterloo, and even wrote a sentence or so on of his loose sheets of paper. She seemed to take immense pleasure in everything that was there. She hummed a soft, sad song as she went about, not even noticing that Marius was there anymore.

After a few minutes of her exploring, Marius cleared his throat. "What is your name, Mademoiselle?' He asked her.

She turned to him, her brown eyes startled by his question. "Éponine. My name is Éponine." She told him, after a moment's hesitation.

"Éponine Jondrette?"

"You can call me that if you like." She said blandly. "It's all the same with me."

Marius frowned. He wasn't sure whether that was really her answer, or if she was simply jesting with him. "What do your friends call you?" He asked.

She smiled wanly. "Nothing I'd like to repeat to you, monsieur; trust me on that. My sister, though, calls me 'Ponine sometimes." She said thoughtfully.

Marius nodded. "I will call you 'Ponine then. And please, no need to call me monsieur. Marius is just fine."

The girl smiled, and for a moment a small grain of life seemed to flow through her. She curtsied to him, and said "As you wish, monsieur."

Before Marius could say anything else, Éponine's eyes grew wide. "Where did you get those?" She asked, pointing at the false letters.

"Oh!" Said Marius, only now remembering them. He picked them up and handed them to her. "You and your sister dropped these yesterday." He explained. "Please, allow me to return them."

Éponine grabbed the letters, and held them tight to her chest. "Lordy Lord, how I've looked for these! You picked these up off the boulevard, didn't you? No wonder I couldn't find them afterwards, they were here all along!" She tried to laugh, but only succeeded in giving herself a rattling cough. "Now, Papa won't be upset with me. He may even hand me a crust for dinner. And that dinner will count for tonight's dinner, and today's breakfast, and last night's dinner and yesterday's breakfast." She positively beamed at Marius. "Merci, Monsieur Marius, merci!" And with that, she was out the door, the letters in her hand, humming her song.

"What an odd girl that Éponine is." Marius reflected. "She seems to me either quite intelligent, or quite mad, or both."

Not having any reason to stay up late, Marius retired. That night, he imagined the sight that had haunted his dreams for months; a beautiful golden-haired girl, sitting in the Luxembourg Gardens with her father. As Marius walked by them, she glanced up at him and smiled, revealing her brilliant white teeth. She opened her mouth to speak the words of love that Marius _knew_ were on her lips-

And he fell down onto the floor with a thud.

Marius gave a bitter laugh. He'd fallen out of his bed in his sleep, like a child after a nightmare. "Ah, the trials of love," he commentated, and he rubbed his cheek.

While his nose was slightly bruised, Marius's emotional pain was far greater than the physical. He sighed sadly. "If only I could see her one more time!" He thought wistfully. "To see her, to be near her, to talk with her, to know her name..." He glanced up the ceiling in despair. "Truly, God," He said, not certain to whom he was speaking. "Is that too much for me to ask of you?"


	4. Return to the Cafe Musain

**Chapter 4: Return to the Cafe Musain**

Two days later, at the Cafe Musain, Marius was experiencing the rare miracle of being almost drunk.

Since his departure from the ABC Society last year, little had changed with its members; Enjolras was still passionate, Courfeyrac was still merry, Grantaire was still drunk, Combeferre was still practical, and Bossuet was still luckless. They recognized him, certainly, but because of his long absence from the café they spoke little to him and held their usual debates between the nine of them. And so, trapped in some accursed limbo of being ostracized yet still included, Marius had little else to do except to drink his fill.

Some time into his stay, Grantaire sauntered over and sat down next to Marius. He popped open another bottle, and after a few swigs he glanced at Marius curiously. "You're back here again, I see." He said, trying to sound casual.

Marius nodded. "I am."

Grantaire sighed. "Damn this small-talk. Why have you returned, Pontmercy? I doubt it's for the pleasure of our company."

Marius hesitated, reluctant to tell Grantaire the reason for his coming back. The drunkard did well to criticize everything, and Marius had no wish to have his story fall under that speculation. But once he unburdened himself, perhaps some of the others could give him the answer to resting his uneasy conscience.

When he didn't immediately answer, Grantaire refilled his cup. "There, have some wine. Now for God's sake, say what's going on!"

Marius took a drink, and started talking. "I met a gamine yesterday." He explained.

Grantaire looked bored, tossing the bottle around between his fingers. "I hope you don't expect me to believe you've returned because of a woman. I know you too well for that."

"No, no." He said quickly. "What I mean is...she was destitute. I doubt she owned anything but the clothes on her back, and those were shabby and torn all to shreds. Her only way of living was to deliver begging letters of her father-who is a true scoundrel, you should know- to charitable people who live in the area. When I first met her, she and her sister had just nearly escaped being arrested by the gendarmes for such an act."

"Have you reached the point of this story yet?" Asked Grantaire, yawning.

"She is my neighbor."

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. "OK, you've lost me now."

"She...opened my eyes, so to speak." Marius began. "After she left my room-"

"I'm sorry, '_left your room_'?" Now Grantaire became intrigued. "Is there something you've not said about this gamine of yours, Pontmercy?"

"She was there to give me a letter." Marius said, exasperated. "Her father wanted to thank me for paying their rent six months ago. It was a trifling matter to me, but to them it kept them in the tenement. It wasn't nothing else, I swear it."

"Clearly it was more than _nothing_, Pontmercy." A new voice said. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be telling this story."

The stranger who had spoken was Jehan Prouvaire. The dreamer of Les Amis, he was more suited as a poet than a student, and enjoyed anything even remotely romantic.

Marius nodded. "You're right, Prouvaire." He conceded. "I just didn't want Grantaire to get the wrong idea."

Prouvaire grinned. "It's going to take more than one night for that to succeed, _mon_ _ami_." He sat down by Marius as well, and took a gulp of wine. "Please, continue."

"My point is that even though I've been poor, I have at least retained my honor; I never been reduced to that state of wretchedness that she was in. It was as though someone had shoved me out my old world, which had been filled with light, and exposed me to a new one where there was nothing but darkness, and she was its sad occupant."

"You seem to pity this girl a lot." Grantaire observed. "And yet not a minute ago you were accusing her father of being a scoundrel."

Marius rolled his eyes. "Grantaire, there are few who fall so hard and so fast into deprivation and manage to stay respectable. This man is no exception. True, he is corrupt, vile, and likely very hateful, but is he to blame, for having to survive the best he can?"

Jean Prouvaire stroked his chin, looking thoughtful. "Fascinating." He murmured. "On one side, you have the unfortunate. On the other, there is the infamous. Yet you, Marius, draw no distinction between them. You collect them into the one group, the one name of...of..."

"_Les Mis__é__rables." _Enjolras suddenly called. "The miserable. The unwanted. The wretched of the earth."

"That's the name, for a hundred sous!" Said Prouvaire, smiling.

The backroom of the Cafe Musain was deadly quiet as Enjolras stood from his chair and turned to face Marius. Marius remembered all too well the way that Enjolras had shamed him before, when he'd last been to the Cafe Musain; an incident which had resulted in Marius avoiding the members of Les Amis de l'Abaisse for days. All of the students respected and admired Enjolras. Even Grantaire, who cared for nothing in this world, could be awed into silence by one word from his Apollo. Marius's status among these young men was hinging upon what Enjolras would say next.

Enjolras gazed at Marius for a long moment. Then suddenly, he smiled, and even started to laugh.

Everyone began to throw Marius and Enjolras confused looks, as though wondering whether their leader was playing some sort of trick.

Enjolras clapped Marius on the back. "It's good to see you learn, Pontmercy." He told him proudly.

Marius folded his arms. "I'd ask whether you've drunk too much, Enjolras, if I did not know that I was speaking to you."

Enjolras shook his head. "Do not fear. I am as sober as ever, only now my heart is lighter to hear that you've finally made the right course of action."

Marius looked at the golden-haired student in confusion. "What do you mean?" He asked.

Enjolras sighed. "You have lowered your sight to earth." He explained. "Last time we spoke here together, you spoke highly of Buonaparte's life and conquests. I will admit I have forgiven you for that, but it was not quickly that I did. You were so wrapped up in the splendor of your French Empire that you were blind to the constant sufferings of your fellow-man. But now, this gamine has exposed to you the world of utter poverty, the world of the_ Misérables. _Thanks to her, you have returned. Thanks to her, I feel confident that I can trust you with this." Enjolras pointed to a large piece of paper on a nearby table; a map of Paris.

He gave Marius a wicked grin, and suddenly Apollo was transformed into an image of Lucifer. "Tell me; what do you know about plotting revolution, Marius Pontmercy?"


	5. Generosity of the Young Fauns of Paris

**Chapter 5: Generosity of the Young Fauns of Paris**

**A/N: A quick note about the setting of this chapter. Although it is now February the sixth, this takes place right after Gavroche takes his brothers away from Patron-Minette's hideout, which was on the third.**

* * *

"Well, momes." Said Gavroche cheerily. "Here it is."

Nathan stared up at the monument in awe. Gavroche wasn't surprised; he and his younger brother had been sheltered away from the world for so long by La Magnon, they likely had hardly any idea what Paris looked like. He doubted they'd be able to stay alive very long in this city without him. "_They'd probably mistake a gambling den for the Hotel de Ville, and end up getting their throats slit by some drunk. Or worse, get dragged back to Magnon._" Gavroche hardly knew his brothers, that was true, but their presence at the meeting with Patron-Minette could only mean one thing; Thenardier wanted them to be initiated into his criminal circles, so they could start doing odd jobs for him, like Gavroche had done at their ages. Once Gavroche had realized that, he'd made up his mind; He needed to leave Thenardier's schemes forever, and the momes as well.

"It's so _big_." The boy said.

"Well, it is an elephant." Samuel told his younger brother. "Do you think all elephants are as large, monsieur?" He asked Gavroche.

Gavroche shrugged. "No idea. I've never seen another elephant."

"How will we get inside?" Nathan wondered. "There's no door."

Gavroche laughed. "Aye, that's true. That's why we go up and in!"

Nathan looked puzzled. "Up and in?" He asked. "What do you mean?"

Gavroche hurried over to the front right foot of the huge monument. He quickly dug into the dry, winter dirt of the street, and out of it produced a long, thick rope ladder. He threw it up towards a hook that was fastened to the stone giant's underbelly. He tugged at the rope, and a hatch popped out, revealing a square of darkness that all of three of them could squeeze into and up into the elephant's bowels.

Gavroche let go of the rope, and gestured to Samuel. "Alright then, mome. Up you get."

"B-but..."The boy stammered.

"But what?"

"I can't climb, monsieur. I've never tried."

Gavroche sighed in disbelief. "Of all the times and places..."He cursed. He looked around the street, and saw another gamin strutting away, whistling a tune.

"Oy, Navet!" Gavroche called to him.

The boy turned, revealing the face of one of Paris's smartest street urchins and one of Gavroche's best friends, Navet. He was only thirteen, but he was tall and thin and wiry, and he was unusually strong for a gamin.

"Yeah, 'Vroche?" The boy asked.

Gavroche jerked a thumb at his brothers. "I've got a pair of momes here who don't know how to climb." He said. "And we have to scurry on up into the elephant before it gets dark."

"You taking care of them?"

"They're my brothers. I've just brought them out of Papa's world to come and live in mine."

Navet nodded. "Well then, hand the bigger one to me, you take the little one, and we should be able to do it."

In a few moments, they were all ascending up the rope ladder. Samuel has hanging tightly on to Navet's back, while Nathan clung desperately to Gavroche. At last, they all tumbled into the belly of the elephant.

Gavroche stood up, feeling mighty proud of himself for getting the boys up here. He'd have to show them how to climb soon; Navet wouldn't be around to help all the time.

He looked around at his little room. It wasn't much to look at; nothing posh. There was just a mattress, a few blankets, a bowl filled with some spare sous, and a little table on which a candle burned away.

Gavroche cried out, and quickly extinguished the flame. "Silly Gavroche!" He scolded himself. "You can only spend so much on lights. Now you'll have to rely on the sun for most of the day."

"You could borrow one of my candles." Navet offered.

Gavroche looked at his friend sympathetically. There was only one rule to living as a gamin: "Take what you can, give nothing back." Navet was just as poor as he was or more, living in his hideaway at Les Halles. He doubted that he had any more than two candles are the moment, both of which he'd still need in the spring.

"It's alright, mate." He said. "I'll manage. I always do, don't I?"

"But now you've got these momes to take care of!" Navet exclaimed. "You've got to watch out for them as well for yourself, aye? Take this, at least." Navet fished into his pocket, and brought out a franc. "This should get you a decent half-candle from the washerwoman down the way." He said. "Buy it, for the little ones here."

Gavroche took his friend's shoulder, and smiled gratefully. "Thanks, mate." He said. "Tell you what; you can stay here tonight, with me and the momes. The sun is setting fast, and it's a long walk back to Les Halles."

"I'll take a fiacre." Said Navet.

"You can't afford a fiacre, and you know it."

"Who said I'll be paying?"

The two gamins laughed. Then, they heard a small creaking noise nearby. Someone was coming up into the elephant.

Gavroche turned, and gasped. "'_Ponine_?" He asked. "Is that you?"It was indeed his sister, and she was hurt. A thin trickle of blood was running down the side of her head and staining her hair. She looked ready to collapse at any moment.

He ran towards her and helped keep her on her feet. "What happened to you?" He asked.

She breathed wheezily. "I told...Papa...that I had handed out all of his letters the other day. I lied. When he asked me why he hadn't heard a reply from a few of them, I told him that I had lost those letters in the boulevard yesterday. He hit me. Worse than usual."

"But what are you doing here?"

"I had to get away. I couldn't stand another minute in that horrible place. This was the only place where I knew there was someone I could trust, so I walked all the way here and climbed up through the elephant. But now I've left 'Zelma there all by herself..."She turned and attempted to walk away, as though determined to walk all the way back to the Gorbeau tenement and rescue her sister.

Gavroche took Éponine' arm, and led her towards the bed. She fell, exhausted and depleted, on to the mattress.

"We'll help Azelma soon, I promise." He told her. "But you have bigger problems to worry about. You need to rest, or you're going to drop dead before you reach St. Michel. Rest, 'Ponine, please."

She smiled, just for an instant, and lay down on the bed. "Thank you, 'Vroche." She said quietly. "I promise that I'll... I'll be..."Before she could finish, her eyes closed, and she was asleep.

Gavroche looked at his assembled guests; Samuel, Nathan, Navet, and Éponine. '_Looks like I've got a full house tonight_.' He thought wryly. '_Might as well make the best of it_.' Since Éponine was on the only bed, Navet and the momes took the extra blankets. That left Gavroche to content himself with the corner.

'_Navet is right_.' He thought. '_I have to start taking care of others; not just myself. Sam, Nate, 'Ponine, even 'Zelma; they all depend on me. So even if I get less out of it than they do, at least we'll all be safe, and together._' He rested his head against the cold wood. '_I suppose that's what it means to be a good person_.'


	6. The Importance of Five Francs

**February 6, 1832**

**Chapter 6: The Importance of Five Francs**

It was a foul time for the Thenardier family in the Gorbeau tenement that day, which was saying something.

It had started to snow in the early morning. Not the light, fluffy flakes that Éponine remembered fondly as a child in Montfermeil, but huge, wet drops that stuck to her eyelashes and clothes and made everything around her even colder. She and Azelma huddled close together, trying desperately to keep warm.

'_Good thing we're not still living under that bridge like we were two_ years_ ago_.'She thought gratefully. '_Otherwise, we'd all have probably frozen to death by now._' It was quite chilly in the Jondrette garret at the moment. The fire was burning dangerously low, and Papa and Maman were wrapped up in as many spare rags as they could find; all were taken, no matter how dirty. Usually, Éponine did not pity nor love her father much, between his dealings with Patron-Minette and his treatment of his family. But now, even she couldn't suppress the drop of compassion she felt for the cold, hungry old harpy sitting only several feet away from her. She hadn't forgiven him for beating her the other day; she never did, whenever he hit her. But unfortunately, that determination didn't make her heartless as well.

The philanthropist of the Church St. Jacques had written to them earlier, apologizing for his delay and saying that he would be arriving with his daughter within a few hours. Ever ready to shake down another unsuspecting bourgeois, Thenardier had put them to work, to curry as much sympathy as possible from their guest. They'd cracked one or two of their plates, dirtied the room even more (which Éponine had thought impossible), almost quenched the fire, crippled a chair, and, most extremely of all, broken a window. Their father had forced Azelma to punch it, and her hand was now bleeding horribly.

There was all of a sudden a loud knock at the door. Thenardier shot to his feet, likely expecting that it was the philanthropist.

"It's open!" He shouted, making his voice sound old and weak.

A man stepped inside, but it was not the philanthropist. It was Monsieur Marius, and in his decent shirt and trouser, he stuck out in the garret like a butterfly among grubs. As he closed the door behind him, Éponine was surprised to see that he did not convey any remote look of disgust on his face when he entered. If anything, he looked as though he was seeing something he'd already seen. '_How could that be?_' Éponine wondered.

Then she noticed something on the wall. Part of the paper had fallen away or been torn aside, revealing a convenient peephole into the ugly little garret.

Éponine smiled mischievously. '_So, you've been spying on us, have you, Monsieur Marius?_' She thought. '_Maybe you're not as perfect as I thought you were_.'

"Monsieur Jondrette?" Marius asked Papa.

Thenardier bowed his head. "That is I." He said.

"I am Marius. I live next door. I would just like you to know that I received the letter you sent me."

"Ah!" Said Thenardier dramatically. "That is good news indeed, monsieur! My entire family, as you see us here, have been deeply in your debt for six months. I only wish that fool of a landlady had told us sooner!" He tutted disapprovingly. "So little to do for a poor workingman of good intent like me! If I could, I would leave this abominable city and head off to the provinces, where there is more work to be done." He spread his hands around the room. "But how can I, when my wife and daughters sit here, hungry and injured?"

Marius toke notice of Azelma's wound. He gasped and rushed to her sister's side. "How did this happen?" He asked.

"A most vile brute." Said Thenardier quickly. "I don't like my children being in this room too long. I can't afford for them to...that is, I don't want them to become ill. I urge them to spend much time outside, but that can sometimes have consequences in this neighborhood. Some barbaric man came upon my daughter yesterday and hit her! The poor dear."

Marius felt his coat pocket, and pulled out nothing but an old handkerchief. He sighed in annoyance, and began to dab away the blood from Azelma's hand. As he treated her, he saw Éponine, holding her sister in her arms. "Oh, hello, Éponine." He said kindly. "Are you well?"

She nodded, excited to be talking to him again. "Very good, monsieur!"

"Éponine, I've told you, just call me Marius."

She grinned. "Then I suppose you'll just have to tell me once more. Monsieur Marius."

Before he could respond, Thenardier asked, "Monsieur, I believe that, if you can recall my letter, I asked if you could be of charitable aid once again?"

Marius nodded. "I do. And I can." He opened his hand, revealing a gleaming gold five-franc coin.

Papa's eyes gleamed with greed. "Oh, you are a good man, indeed, monsieur. The world needs more men like you. I will gladly accept this gift of-"

Before he could take it, Éponine jumped to her feet, swiped the coin out of Marius's hands, and examined it. "Well, the snows end at last!" She said laughingly. "Ain't this a grand bit of luck? Enough to fill our mouths for two whole days at least! Thank you forever and ever, good monsieur!" She took off her cap, and made an awkward sort of bow.

Marius was staring at her uncertainly. Éponine blushed, realizing only now that she'd been speaking in rapid-fire argot. He probably hadn't understood a word she'd said. She felt humiliated.

Papa gently took the five-franc coin out of Éponine's hand. "Forgive my daughter, monsieur. She gets a bit queer now and then, throwing the occasional fit."

"Nothing needs forgiveness." Said Marius.

Éponine sat back down next to Azelma, and looked down at the floor, determined to try and ignore Marius now. It wasn't easy.

Before Papa could say anymore to Marius, there was a second knock at the door. "Is anyone there?" A voice asked.

Thenardier became excited. It was undoubtedly the philanthropist this time. "Yes, monsieur." He called. "Please, come in with your charming young lady."

The door opened, and an old man and a girl entered. Éponine looked up at the girl, and all thoughts but one fled instantly from her mind. One word that contained more shock, disbelief and anger than she had ever known in her life.

_Cosette_.


	7. The Meeting of Paris and Helen

**Chapter 7: The Meeting of Paris and Helen**

Jean Valjean looked at the assembled faces in the garret; the thin, leering dramatic artist Fabantou and his huge wife; their two daughters, shivering in the cold; and the young man who was kneeling by the side of the girls and staring in wonder at Cosette, the way one might marvel at an angel.

Valjean placed his hand protectively on Cosette's shoulder. The young man reminded him unpleasantly of the student who had taken a fancy to Cosette in the Jardin du Luxembourg, and he didn't want a repeat of that. All Valjean had learned from that unpleasant experience was that Cosette was even more unprepared to start life without him than he'd thought, and he'd strengthened his resolve to keep her near him.

Nevertheless, that was no excuse to be impolite. "And who are you, monsieur? A relative of these poor folk?" Valjean asked him.

The young man smiled with an air of good nature. "No, monsieur. Simply a neighbor, offering any assistance I could." He made a short bow. "I am Marius Pontmercy. And you are?"

Valjean returned the smile. Perhaps this Marius wasn't the same fool as the other student had been. "Ultime Fauchelevent. And this is my daughter, Cosette."

Marius's grin broadened at the sound of her name. He took Cosette's hand in his own, and kissed it gently. "_Enchanté_." He told her.

Cosette beamed at him. "You're too kind, monsieur."

"Marius, please."

"Marius."

None of them, not even Valjean, noticed Éponine then, looking at Cosette with an evil eye.

Valjean shifted uncomfortably, wondering how to change this discussion to something less...informal. He steered Cosette away from Marius, and asked him "You are a friend, you say? Their neighbor?"

Marius nodded. "I did them a kindness about six months ago, and now monsieur has called on me again for whatever good my petty deeds may do."

Fabantou laughed. "Monsieur Marius is being too humble! Look here, in my hands! A five-franc piece, good as gold! He gave that to us just now, the kind boy!"

Marius blushed at the man's compliment. "It was the very least I could do, monsieur. I am sure that Monsieur Fauchelevent can do much more for you."

Valjean shrugged. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. I am a philanthropist, that is true, but a man does not need his station as an excuse to do good."

Marius bowed his head. "Wise words." He said. He looked around the garret. "Now, if I am needed no further, I will leave monsieur to speak with Monsieur Fauchelevent."

"Eh? Oh, very well." Said Fabantou. "A thousand blessings go with you, Monsieur Marius!"

"It's been a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Fauchelevent. And you, Cosette." He tipped them his hat, and departed.

Valjean watched him go. '_How odd._' He thought to himself. '_I feel as though I would quite like to meet that charitable young man again, and yet at the same time I rather dread it._'

Fabantou shook him out of his thoughts. "I am afraid, monsieur, that I have news most tragic to tell you." He lamented.

"Yes?"

"Very soon, on the, eh, sixteenth, my landlord intends to evict me in lieu of my unpaid rent. Myself, my spouse, and my daughters shall be turned out to the street! In the heart of winter! I owe sixty francs to that horrid man! How can I ever pay it!"

Valjean began to get an understanding of just what kind of man this Fabantou was. While he was poor and impoverished, he was also greedy and quite cunning as well. He knew better than to ask Valjean for money upfront in fear of being turned down, so he decided to test his interest by baiting him with his ultimatum. It was a style of begging that seemed almost...familiar to Valjean.

"I could give you seventy-five francs." Said Valjean. If being a factory owner in Montreuil-sur-mer had taught him anything about business, it was that people enjoyed being offered more money than they asked for.

Fabantou's eyes widened. "Seventy-five francs, monsieur! What a fortune! What a gift! If you could be so benevolent, I would deeply in your debt!"

Valjean smiled at him. Although he had some suspicions about Fabantou's character, it always gave him pleasure to provide alms for anyone in need, even if they were a bit rascally. "You owe the rent on the sixteenth of this month, you say? Would you like me to send the money to you several days before that?"

"No!" Fabantou shouted. Then he recoiled, and smiled apologetically. "Pray forgive me, monsieur. A bit of the nerves, you know. What I mean is, I suggest an alternate plan; on the sixteenth, I come to your residence-wherever that may be- you hand me your gift in person there, and I return here to appease my landlord. With the extra fifteen francs-twenty, including the five from Monsieur Marius- I can began saving for my next payment."

It was an acceptable idea, Valjean supposed. Still; why did Fabantou want him to give him the francs in person, at Rue Plumet?

He decided not to argue. This man had already been treated too harshly by the world. Why not let him have his way for once? "Very well." Valjean agreed. "I shall expect you on the sixteenth of February. Any time would do. I live at Rue Plumet, Number 55. You know where that is?"

Fabantou nodded.

"Until then, Monsieur Fabantou. I shall see you again in two weeks time." Valjean nodded his goodbye, and led Cosette out of the dirty little garret. Another minute later, they were in a fiacre on their way back to Rue Plumet.

Cosette smiled at him. "That was a very kind thing you did, Papa, offering to pay their rent for them."

Valjean beamed at her. He wished so dearly that she would become like him when she was older and he was gone; giving all and keeping little. What was that awful maxim of Javert's in Montreuil? "Honest work and just reward, that's the way to please the Lord." '_Well, that's all good for a man like him._' Valjean thought satisfactorily. '_But for me, it should be "eternal charity with no reward". Let Javert keep his laws, wherever he is now'_.

"It was the very least I could do." Then he gave a humorous snort. "I sound just like that young man, Marius Pontmarie."

"Pont_mercy_, Papa. He said his name was Pontmercy. And you do." Cosette said, her tone casual. "What did you think of him, by the way?"

Valjean bit his lip. He didn't want to point out the young man anymore to Cosette today, but he could neither avoid her question. "I thought him a very dull fellow." He said airily.

Cosette's only response was:

"Indeed."

Valjean ground his teeth in annoyance. '_Now I'm sure to have pointed him out to her._' He thought, cursing himself. '_God above; who knows where could this lead next?_'


	8. Hope Strikes a Bargain with Poverty

**Chapter 8: Hope Strikes a Bargain with Poverty**

"I tell you, it is she!" Thenardier insisted.

"Impossible!" Shrieked Maman. "How can that beggar-girl be that lady, with her dainty hat and dress? My daughters have nothing but the clothes on their backs, and she is dressed as though for a ball!"

"What did you expect?" Papa shouted. "We've always known that monsieur to be richer than he let on. If he hadn't, we'd still be living in Montfermeil! Mon Dieu, I wouldn't be surprised if he was a baron! But mark this well; he's had that girl by his side for eight years now, making her pretty as a doll without her lifting a finger. And us? We break our breaks for a centime!"

Éponine watched her father warily. In the eight years since leaving Montfermeil, he'd never forgotten the "injustice" done to him by the mysterious man in the yellow coat who'd taken Cosette away. He'd sworn that he would meet them again, and it seemed as though the chance had come.

Thenardier began to wring his hands excitedly. "This changes everything." He whispered. "This changes everything!"

"What are you talking about?" Azelma asked nervously. "What does this change?"

"Why do you think I had that old fool agree to deliver the seventy-five francs on my terms? I've waited eight years to give him what he deserves, I'm not risking it getting messed up. Robbing him here in the tenement was a risky enough idea; it all depended on that dolt of a student boy not coming back. Clearly, he isn't going to be staying away." He glared at Éponine. "I told you to keep him out of this!"

She just rolled her eyes. "I did _try_." She said. "I delivered your letter like you said. I got some sympathy out of him. How should I know he would make a reply? _You_ were the one who wrote asking for more help!"

"Watch your tone, girl." Papa said dangerously. "One more word like that, and I'll-"

"You'll what?" Éponine protested. "Starve me? Ha! My stomach doesn't get any emptier than this! Make me the next watchdog? As if that doesn't fall enough on me already. And you don't dare hurt me too badly now, since you're going to need a lookout for this job against Fauchelevent. Admit it, Papa. You can't touch me."

Thenardier sneered. "Oh, I'm sure _I_ can't." He said. "But I'm sure others won't be so scrupulous, 'Ponine."

He let that threat hang in the air for a moment. Then, he began to pace about the room, lecturing the three of them. "I'll have to tell Patron-Minette about the change in plans. I doubt it will make any difference to them where we rob the man anyway. But this may need more backup..."His face grew thoughtful. "And I have just the pair of scoundrels in mind."

Maman grinned evilly. "_Les Frères Souriant_, dearest?"

Papa nodded, returning her grin. "Aye. _Les Frères Souriant__."_

Éponine neither knew nor cared who _Les Frères Souriant _was. She guessed that they were Parisian criminals-Papa knew anybody in this city with a dirty reputation-but still...what kind of criminals went by the name "The Smiling Brothers"?_  
_

Her father's abrasive tone shook her out of her thoughts. "Éponine, I want you to go to the Place la Bastille and find Gavroche. If that ungrateful street urchin is anywhere in that damnable elephant, you're going to drag him out by the ears. He's going to take part in this job, whether he likes it or not."_  
_

She nodded. "Yes, Papa." And with that, she got up from the floor and headed out the door. She was going to Place la Bastille, just like her father wanted her to. She expected Gavroche to be there, with Samuel and Nathan and perhaps Navet. She'd talk with him, certainly, but she had no intention of bringing Gavroche back to the Gorbeau tenement. He'd make considerable protest along the way, for one thing.

Just as she was about to leave the tenement, a voice called "Éponine!"

She turned. It was Monsieur Marius, running towards her frantically and looking quite distressed.

"What's the matter with you?" She asked him.

He stopped, and relaxed his expression. "Nothing."

"Yes there is. I can tell."

"No, there isn't. I'm perfectly fine." He said affirmatively.

Éponine gave a small laugh. "Aye, and I'm perfectly full. Out with it, Marius, what ails you?"

He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, like a schoolboy who'd been caught misbehaving. "Do you think you could help me with something? I doubted that any of my other friends could, so I decided to ask you."

Éponine laughed again. "Who, me? What could I do that your fine student-friends can't? I shall tell you, monsieur; I can carry letters, go into houses without being seen, ask questions door to door, find out an address, and follow someone without them knowing. Now, is any of that _really_ going to help you?"

To her surprise, he nodded delightedly. "Yes! That's precisely what would help! But first, let me ask you a question; do you know the man and his daughter who came to your garret today?"

She was sorely tempted to say '_Why yes, I do know them. The old man is a millionaire who pretends to be poor, and the girl is a street-rat who should have remained my family's servant._' What she actually said was "No. I do not."

"Do you know their address?"

'_Yes. It is Number 55, Rue Plumet. I don't know what the house looks like, except that it has an iron gate, but I suppose it's very nice._' Instead, she lied again. "No."

"Could you find it for me?"

Éponine's lip curled in amusement. There was only one rule to being a Thenardier: 'If you're going to agree to something, find out what's in it for you first.' "And what will you give me?" She asked innocently.

"Why, anything!" He exclaimed. "Anything that you want."

'_Well in that case, I suppose I can ask for Cosette's best dress, or a million francs, or the Palace of_ _Versailles._" She thought humorously. '_But I really should keep it simple._' She thought over all that she knew about Marius, to see what he might be able to offer her. It wasn't much. She knew he was poor, that he was a student, that he lived next door to her, and that he kept a lot of books.

Hmm...the books. She had rather liked those books he kept.

"Where did you get those books? The ones I saw in your room?" She asked him.

He seemed surprised by her question. "Actually, most of them aren't my books. I borrowed them from Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and a few of my other friends at the Cafe Musain."_  
_

"What is the Cafe Musain?"

"It is...well, it's a café, where students from the Sorbonne and other parts of the Latin Quarter go to drink, smoke, and discuss."

"What do they discuss?"

"Politics and history, mostly. Sometimes modern philosophy. Occasionally poetry too, if Prouvaire has his way. Recently, however, Enjolras has been talking about attempting reforms for the poor or some such thing, so I can assume that's what will be coming up at the next meeting."

Éponine liked the sound of this café. It wasn't the boring school she'd thought it would be, but it wasn't the bawdy tavern that she'd known in her own life either. It seemed like a pleasant mix of both. "I want you to bring me to this Cafe Musain." She told Marius.

He knit his eyebrows. "You do?"

She nodded. "If you take me to this student meeting, then I will search for your mademoiselle's address."

Marius gave her a delighted smile, revealing his very white teeth. "Thank you, Éponine, thank you! I can do this for you, easily. The Musain is on the Place St. Michel, by the way. Be there at seven o'clock this Sunday. I'm sure you'll enjoy it." He smiled at her again, then did something completely unexpected; he gave her a quick, friendly hug. "_Tu merci encore_, _mon ami_. You may have just changed my life forever." He said.

"Uh, yes." Said Éponine, dazed. "Glad I could help. Now, I really must be going. My brother..."She mumbled some lame excuse, and before she knew it she was out of the door and heading towards the Place la Bastille for the second time that week.

Even after she was gone, she still felt a strange sort of tingling in her arms, where Marius had hugged her. She tried to wrap her own arms around herself. Nothing.

"_Merde_." She swore softly. She quickened her pace down the road, determined not to look back at whoever was standing in the doorway of the Gorbeau tenement.


	9. Gestas and Dismas, Both in Hell

**Chapter 9: Gestas and Dismas, Both in Hell**

**A/N: I own two O/Cs here, Chapard and Cambriol.**

**P.S. This is one of those chapters where the story deserves the "T" rating, by the way.**

* * *

Éponine returned to find 50-52, Gorbeau House, hosting two unexpected guests that evening.

She'd just returned from Gavroche's elephant. He'd been doing well in the few days that they'd last seen each other. Their two youngest siblings, Nathan and Samuel, were quickly learning the arts of the gamin, and Gavroche was luckily able to feed all three of them, thanks to a twenty-franc coin a gentleman had tossed to him. "Poor fellow." He'd told Éponine. "After I'd bowed and showed my thanks, I swiped another five out of his pocket." She'd laughed when he'd said that, and ruffled his dirty blonde hair like she had when they were children.

The two men talking with her father did not seem as entertaining as Gavroche, though. They were both dressed with dark hats and overcoats, and their features were similar enough to make Éponine wonder whether they were related. One wore a blue cravat, while the other wore a red one. One was them was tall and thin, the other large and stocky. She immediately disliked the pair of them.

Thenardier greeted her as she entered the garret. "Ah, Éponine," He said, much too politely. "Allow me to introduce our visitors. This is Monsieur Chapard,"He indicated the stocky man. "And this is Monsieur Cambriol." He pointed towards the tall man.

"Who are they?" She asked bluntly.

"They are," Said Thenardier, sweetening his tone. "A pair of gentlemen who have kindly offered to aid me and Patron-Minette in our operation against Monsieur Fauchelevent."

"They're burglars, you mean." Éponine stated.

"We prefer the term "purloiners", mam'selle." Chapard said. He was a very seedy-looking fellow, and he wasn't nearly as well-dressed as Monsieur Cambriol. His hat was more weathered, his trousers were dirtier and the elbows of his coat were shinier. There was an oily tone in his voice that made Éponine mistrust even more than the other.

"I see." She said to the burglar. "I take it that you and your friend here are _Les Frères Souriant_? The Smiling Brothers?"

Cambriol nodded. "We've been given that name, yes."

"How did you get it?"

Cambriol gave a slightly embarrassed smile. "It's something of a pun; Marceau walks up to a passerby and smiles warmly at him, and I hold him from behind while he checks the pockets."

"How amusing." Éponine said sarcastically. "And tell me, Monsieur Cambriol; how did my father convince you and your partner to take part in this risky venture?"

"He convinced us with twenty-five thousand francs." Said Chapard, his eyes shining with greed. "He plans on stealing two hundred thousand total, with an equal share for each man. That's himself, me, Cambriol, Brujon, and Patron-Minette."

Éponine bit back her scornful laughter. Her father really _was_ the greatest con-man in France! He'd told his family that he planned on stealing 200,000 francs, yes; but he'd also mentioned on how he was going to distribute only 500 francs to each man, and take the remaining 196,500 for himself. Of course, he couldn't tell his gang about that, could he?

"That's quite a fortune, monsieur."

"It certainly is, _fille_. In fact, your father has been generous enough to add some insurance to our pledge; just to make sure we keep our word in the long run."

"Insurance?" Éponine echoed. "What insurance?"

She looked to her parents for an answer, and found it in the triumphant expression on her father's face.

"_I'm sure _I _can't hurt you_." He'd told her earlier. "_But I'm sure others won't be so scrupulous, 'Ponine."_

And there was nothing more unscrupulous than a thief.

She'd been such a fool to tempt her father's rage. Where did it ever get her, anyway? Another brawl in the house and another mark on her cheek. But he'd never taken revenge this way before.

Thenardier had sold her body to Chapard and Cambriol.

"A very effective kind of insurance, 'Ponine." Papa said, satisfaction dripping in every word he said. "I am, as I have always said, a man of good business; a perfectly honest tradesman. And my trade is living."

_'No. Your trade is dehumanizing. Others as well as yourself'_. Éponine thought bitterly. She looked at her mother, but she was staring directly at the broken chair as though it was suddenly quite interesting. She looked towards 'Zelma, but she simply shook her head and clutched her wounded hand, not making a sound.

"I see." She said, not sure whether she was speaking to her father or to herself. "Well, gentlemen, you might as well make yourselves comfortable. The sun is going down fast, and I don't pay for transportation."

"How nice to see everything get settled." Thenardier said pleasantly. "And now, if you'll pardon me, Éponine, I'm off to tell Patron-Minette of our new compatriots. My dear, Azelma; you're coming with me."

Maman walked by Éponine without giving her a single glance. Azelma clutched her arm and tried to say something, but the words stuck in her throat, and she departed with their mother.

To Éponine's surprise, Cambriol began to leave as well.

"Where are you off to, Alexandre?" Chapard asked. "Aren't you going to stay and entertain our lovely guest?"

"You may "entertain" her first, Marceau." Said Cambriol in a bored tone. "I'm not entirely in the mood for it, and I have the mind to go out and get some dinner. There is a lovely restaurant in the Marais that I know of; one with the most excellent wine. I shall see you again tomorrow." The thief raised his hat to them, and was gone.

Chapard and Éponine were the only two people left in the garret, and the silence was growing eerily tense.

"Well?" Chapard demanded. "Aren't you going to do something?"

Instead of answering, Éponine took her boy's cap off her head and set it down on the floor. She took off her wooden shoes next. After that, she brushed her long mane of dark black hair behind her shoulders, and began to fiddle with her chemise.

Chapard's breath grew heavier as he watched her. He lumbered up to her and pushed her to the ground. "Faster." He said, the lust growing in his voice.

Éponine ignored him. She may be this man's slave tonight, but he was a lummox all the same, and she would not be bullied.

Growling like an animal, Chapard struck her across the face. "Faster!" He bellowed.

Her heart racing now, Éponine tore off her chemise as quickly as she could. There was faint ripping sound, and she was suddenly bare-chested in front of the burglar.

Chapard got down on his knees in front of her, and began to stroke her legs with his horrible hairy hands. "By God." He said, frustrated after a few minutes of doing it. "At least _react _to me, wench. It's like feeling up a corpse."

'_That's because you are_.' Éponine thought. '_Funny; I really am more dead than alive, aren't I? My heart rarely feels, my skin doesn't register the blows Papa delivers, my mind is slow and my speech minimal. That's what happens to a girl in Pantin. There is no thriving. You only waste away. So go on ahead, Monsieur Chapard. Make love to your corpse._'

* * *

Cambriol returned to the garret about thirty minutes after Chapard had left her. He had a small box tucked under one arm and was carrying a bottle of wine in his other hand.

He either didn't see Éponine as he walked in, or he simply ignored her. He sat down at Papa's usual chair and table in the darkness, and opened the box. A sickeningly sweet smell filled the foul garret, like the treats Éponine had eaten when she was a little girl.

He started to sing as he munched on his dessert:

_Nous marchions le long ensemble_  
_Et goûté beaucoup de larmes_  
_Tant nous étions assis en regardant vers le rivage azurage._  
_Nous savions que nous regardions retour sur le passage de années_  
_Que des temps difficiles reviendraient pas plus._

_Nous avons écouté les chansons de celui qui est fatigué et mal-aimé_  
_Priant pour la Mort pour fermer sa porte._  
_Espérant l'amour et la beauté règnerait pour tout leur jours_  
_Espérant que des temps difficiles reviendraient pas plus._

_Nous travaillions à construire un monde de la musique, la lumière et gaie_  
_Sachant bientôt il aurait no plus pauvres._  
_Ills avaient élèvent la voix forte, nous aurions entendre chanter et dire_  
_"Oh, temps difficiles reviendront pas plus."_

_Vous étiez une vierge brisée, vivant tous vos jours en enfer,_  
_Mais toujours vous regardé vers la lumière._  
_Vous avez eu le coeur d'un ange et le corps de putain_  
_Pourtant tu chantais "Temps difficiles reviendront pas plus."_  
_Ensemble nous avons chanté "Temps difficiles, temps difficiles, reviendront pas plus."*_

The mournful song ended. Cambriol brought a match out of his pocket, and lit the taper that was placed on the table. By its light, he saw Éponine at last, sitting hunched up in the corner. She must have looked like a phantom, and a disgraced phantom at that; her hair was wilder than ever, her chemise was torn, and her skirt had been pushed up all the way to her waist.

"Oh. It's you." He said casually. "Good to see you again, mademoiselle. You're most likely hungry. Cake?"

Éponine would have given her life for a taste of that delicious treat. But she shook her head, refusing.

He smiled sadly at her. "Ah, quite right. You've learned not to trust the man who offers you food. Very wise, my girl." He took a bite of his cake, and between mouthfuls said "That's why I became a thief, you know. I knew better than to trust someone with my meals. I learned to rely only on myself for getting fed. And my cousin too, I suppose."

"Your cousin?" Éponine asked weakly. "But I thought Chapard was-"

"My brother?" Cambriol finished for her. "No, mademoiselle. He is the son of my father's brother, thus making him my cousin. Don't worry, everyone thinks the way you do. "The Smiling Cousins", after all, doesn't have the same ring to it as "The Smiling Brothers"." He took a swig of his wine. "Ah." He said happily. "Bordeaux, 1780. Excellent vintage. One drop of this turns paupers into princes, and jackals into lions." He glanced over at her again. "Please, eat. I insist."

Slowly, Éponine rose from her spot and walked, as though in a dream, to Cambriol's table. She took a hesitant bite of the cake, and her mouth instantly burst with flavor. The taste of it was so sweet that she almost gagged while trying to devour her piece. She had a bit of the wine to wash it down, but that only made her tongue feel tangier.

Cambriol nodded, and allowed her another drink and slice. "One would think you'd been living off rocks." He commented.

"Black bread, though there's not much difference." She admitted. Before she knew it, she'd gobbled down half of the cake and at least a quarter of the wine.

She burped. "Sorry, monsieur." She apologized.

"Don't worry. Marceau belches like a behemoth when he has the mind for it. I regret to say that you have learned how uncivilized he is."

She gave a small, careful nod. "Monsieur? Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what, precisely?"

"Giving me cake and wine, and not...enjoying me?"

Cambriol tugged at his bottom lip, hesitating. He took another long sip of wine, and then he said "I once had a sister very much like you, Éponine. Another tragic young girl." He stared at the burning candle. "You do not share her face, but your fates are the same. Allow me to explain."

* * *

***Here's my best translation of Cambriol's song:**

**We walked along together**  
**And tasted many tears**  
**As we sat looking towards the brightening shore.**  
**We knew as we looked back on the passing of the years**  
**That hard times would come again no more.**

**We listened to the songs of the weary and unloved**  
**Praying for Death to close His door.**  
**Hoping love and beauty would reign for all their days**  
**Hoping that hard times would come again no more.**

**We worked to build a world of music, light and gay**  
**Knowing soon there would be no more poor.**  
**They'd raise their voices loud, we would hear them sing and say**  
**"Oh, hard times come again no more."**

**You were a broken maiden, living all your days in hell,**  
**But always you looked towards the light.**  
**You had the heart of an angel and the body of a whore**  
**Still you sang "Hard times come again no more."**  
**Together we sang "Hard times, hard times, come again no more."**


	10. Misery's Brother

**Chapter 10: Misery's Brother**

**A/N: In this first section, although there are no quote marks, it is all Cambriol narrating. **

* * *

I come from a suburb close to Paris, the quarter called Montreuil-sur-mer. When I was seven years old, my mother died giving birth to my sister, and my father ran off with a carter's wife. I had almost nothing to live for after that, and she had no one on earth but me. A circus performer who was passing though town taught me the arts of pick-pocketing, and from there I made my living. I never really enjoyed that life, when I look back on it. The only bright spot was the knowledge that my sister was staying alive. She was an innocent young creature, with wonderful blonde hair and beautiful white teeth. We played together in the street every day, until we could scratch a few pennies out of the road or some witch chased us off.

Then, when she was ten, she decided that she wanted to leave Montreuil. I knew no life outside of my home, but I could not imagine being separated from her. So we journeyed together into the farmlands, and were both able to start honest living. Those were perhaps the happiest years of my life, and I've always hated myself for not making them last longer.

When she was fifteen and I was twenty-two, we decided to go to Paris together and "seek our fortune", you might say. I was able to give up thieving for good then, and became the friend of some decent young men in the college. One of them took an interest in my sister, and she became his mistress. I couldn't bear to lose her love to another man, so in 1817 we finally parted ways.

Let me bring this story to its moral, Éponine. About seven years afterwards, I heard a rumor that my sister had returned to Montreuil without her lover. I was so thrilled by the idea of seeing her again, I left Paris as soon as I could and arrived back home. But it was too late. She had died of a fever. A friend of her's, a penury-woman named Marguerite, told me the story:

My sister, it seemed, had had a child by her lover. The girl was being looked after by an innkeeper in some out-of-town backwater, and she had to pay him an extraordinary amount to provide for her. She worked at a factory, I was told, but was fired once the forewoman discovered she had an illegitimate child. So she had to resort to...extreme measures. She sold everything she owned and more; her hair, her teeth, and at last, her body. All this she did, never thinking of herself and only of her daughter. She died a whore who had become the mistress of the mayor. I found her grave and wrote her name on the stone. And there, at her tomb, I swore to shield the honor of any woman in her tragic situation. And that includes you, Éponine.

* * *

Cambriol grew silent once he had finished his story. The candle was almost used up by then, just a few inches of wax left. They'd each completed the cake, and the wine was almost used up.

"I still don't understand." Said Éponine. "How did you go back to thieving?"

Cambriol gave her a wan smile. "When I returned to Paris, confused and distraught, I met my cousin Marceau Chapard. He'd taken up with a crime ring in Pantin, and I was drawn back to that world like a moth to the flame. We soon became expert robbers, and everyone started calling us that absurd nickname you heard from your father."

And with that, Cambriol stood, drained the wine bottle, and brushed the cake crumbs off the desk. "It's been a pleasure, Mademoiselle Thenardier." He put on his hat, and turned to leave.

Before he could go, Éponine called out "Monsieur Cambriol!"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For not...doing what Monsieur Chapard did."

"You are very welcome."

"But you promised my father I would be yours this evening. He'll be angry with me if you didn't do anything. He'll blame it all on me, I'm sure of it."

Cambriol considered for a moment. Then, he walked back to Éponine's side, and kissed her, almost delicately, on the cheek.

"There. That should satisfy a rascal like your father." He grinned at her. "Perhaps I was wrong when I compared you too much to my sister, Éponine. Maybe you two will not share the same fate; to die for someone you love."

She laughed. "I highly doubt that."

"So do I." Cambriol clasped her hand for a moment more, and then turned to leave again.

"What was her name?" She asked him. "Your sister's name?"

Cambriol stopped suddenly. He grasped the door-frame as though he was trying to steady himself. He looked back towards Éponine, the grief very real in his eyes.

"Fantine." He said, almost inaudibly. "Her name...was Fantine."


	11. The Scorn of Apollo

**Chapter 11: The Scorn of Apollo**

It was a fine Sunday evening in the Cafe Musain, and the members of the ABC Society were in a heated discussion. They'd finally ended their usual political debates, and were now going over the plans for the revolution. Since that cold night when Enjolras had shown him the map of Paris, Marius had learned several key things about it; it would most likely be in the summer, that it would begin with a collective group of students and workers, and then hopefully ordinary Parisian citizens. The missing link was the revolution's catalyst; it needed a sign to rally the people and call upon them to fight.

'_Otherwise, it's a suicide mission_.' Marius thought wryly, and he sipped at his water.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the closed back door.

Enjolras frowned. "Who is it?" He called out.

"Is Monsieur Marius there?" A voice asked.

Marius sat up. He recognized that voice.

"So what if he is?" Enjolras replied.

"He made me a promise that I could come here tonight."

Marius nodded. "Come in, Éponine." He said. "The door is not locked."_  
_

The door swung open, and the gamine stepped inside. She didn't seem as dirty as she had when Marius last saw her, when he'd asked her to find Cosette. It was as though she'd managed to clean herself up before coming here. Her face had lost most of the grime, and her hair seemed darker and sleeker than before. As a result, she looked more lively than usual, and that was aided greatly by the relaxed smile that played on her lips.

Grantaire raised an eyebrow as she entered. "Your face looks familiar to me. Where have I seen it before, mademoiselle?"

Éponine muttered something that Marius couldn't make out.

"What did you say?" Grantaire asked.

"I said that if I was as drunk as you are, monsieur, I wouldn't be able to see anything save my bottle."

The café erupted into laughter, Grantaire among them. He raised his glass up high and shouted to Marius:

"A fine specimen you've brought here tonight, Pontmercy! A nymph disguised as Persephone! I almost wish I could remember her!"

"I don't." Retorted Éponine, which induced another fit of chuckling from the students. "I've never met you before in my life, monsieur, and I'm feeling rather grateful for it."

Marius called for silence. "_Mes amis_, this is Mademoiselle Éponine Jondrette. She asked me to allow her to the café to attend one of our meetings, and I agreed."

Bahorel scoffed. "A girl, playing at politics? I've never heard of such a thing!"

"You just have." Éponine replied. "I'm not entirely stupid, monsieur. I've had a better education than most of the children on the streets, if not a better upbringing. I can read and write just as well as any of you gentlemen here."

Courfeyrac nodded approval. "Admirable skills, Mlle Jondrette." He said. "But can you put them to use?" He picked a small red book up off of the table and tossed it to her. "Do you know what that is?"

Éponine stared at the cover, mystified. She shook her head. "No, I don't."

"That is _The Social Contract_, by Jean-Jacques Rousseau." Said Courfeyrac sternly. "And if you cannot read that, then I doubt you belong here, or that you can read at all."_  
_

"I _can_ read!" Éponine protested. To prove it, she opened the book to the first page and recited: "Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains. One thinks himself the master of others, and still remains a greater slave than they. How did this change come about? I do not know. What can make it legitimate? That question I think I can answer."

The room went quiet. Grantaire peered over and examined the book. "Word for word." He announced.

"But do you know what it means?" Combeferre insisted. "You've proved that you are a parrot. Now prove you are a philosopher as well."

Éponine smiled. "You will have to teach me _some _things, monsieur."

Combeferre laughed. "Very true. Nobody can know everything without tutoring. I am Combeferre, by the way. The drunkard is Grantaire, your lover of Rousseau is Courfeyrac, and our leader is Enjolras; that stern, blonde fellow in the red coat. Would you care to sit down?"

Éponine went over and took her seat next to Combeferre at the largest table. In a few minutes, several other members of Les Amis had joined, hovering close to Éponine like dogs around a new member of the pack. Marius would have liked to join them, but Enjolras stopped him. "Marius. Could I speak to you for a moment?"He asked.

Marius nodded, and Enjolras pulled him aside. Once they were out of earshot from the other students, his stony face grew even grimmer than usual. "What on earth do you think you are doing?" He hissed.

Marius blinked in surprise. "What do you mean?"

"Tell me, Marius; do you ever see Musichetta come here for Joly or Bossuet? Or one of Grantaire's grisettes running back to smack him? Mon Dieu, even _Courfeyrac_ has the good sense to keep his latest girl away!"

"Enjolras, what are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you. More specifically, I am asking why you have decided to parade around your mistress tonight, when we could be discussing our revolution!"

"She is _not_ my mistress!" Marius said hotly. "She's just a friend, I swear. And you ought to thank her, not rant against her. She's the gamine I met that influenced me to come back here."

Enjolras grew solemn again. "Well, I'll thank her for that." He conceded. "But even so; why is she here?"

"She asked to come to one of our meetings."

"But why did she ask in the first place?"

"I owed her a favor, and said that if there was anything she wanted that I could grant, it was her's. This is her request."

"And what was the favor?"

"That's none of your business."

Enjolras complied him, and changed the subject. "If she proves herself an able mind, then she is welcome to come again. In time, we perhaps can trust her with some of our secrets. It could be a very useful thing to have a gamine as an ally. But Marius; I don't want her to have too many illusions about what we do here. This is not a game for poor young girls to play."

Marius nodded. He turned to face the table where Éponine and the students were talking and laughing. "Don't worry, Enjolras. She may not look it, but she is a very wise person."


	12. All the Lights are Misty in the River

**Chapter 12: All the Lights are Misty in the River**

The meeting at the Cafe Musain ended at eleven o' clock. Éponine said farewell to the students, and they all returned the goodbye.

Marius was waiting for her at the door of the cafe. "Shall we return to Gorbeau House now?"

She blinked. "Together?"

He nodded. "I don't see why not. We're going to the same place, after all."

"OK. But we can't talk the Rue St. Michel back." Éponine said.

"Why not?" Marius asked.

"Because..." She hesitated. She couldn't tell him that she was afraid she might be recognized; Papa often sent her into the areas around St. Michel to steal, and she couldn't risk being caught now, not with Marius with her. Luckily, she remembered that there were two ways from the Cafe Musain back to the Gorbeau tenement. One was the Rue St. Michel, and the other was a little road down by the river, where there was an embankment that blocked the Seine from flowing. "Because it's so much nicer to walk down to the river tonight." She told him.

Marius smiled. "Whatever you want, 'Ponine." And together, they began the journey home.

Later, as they were walking along the riverside, Éponine reflected on the evening she'd had. She had, almost without wanting to, enjoyed herself there. The group of students there-Les Amis de l'ABC, they called themselves-were far more exciting than she had thought they would be. Grantaire, despite being the drunkard that he was, could actually be interesting when he talked coherently. Combeferre, the philosopher, Jehan Prouvaire, the poet, and Feuilly, the worker, had been very friendly to her, in ways that only Marius and Monsieur Cambriol had been before. They expected nothing from her, and didn't care when she spoke her mind, which was often. After a while of talking about herself and her family-she'd avoided all questions about her father-they'd told her what they were planning in the summer; an action so daring that it promised hope for all the poor in Paris.

Revolution. That's what they were plotting.

Éponine knew almost nothing about revolutions. Whenever she heard the word, it conjured images of the Bastille falling, or the guillotine taking off the heads of thousands of innocent bourgeois. She couldn't imagine people like Marius and Combeferre sentencing people to death; they were simply too nice. Maybe their kind of revolution would be different from the ones that had come before. She just didn't know yet.

It was very peaceful, walking along the Seine that evening. There were times when Éponine caught herself noticing things around her that she never had before. The chirping of the crickets in the grass, for one. Or the stillness of the river at night. Or how brightly lit the stars were. Or that tight feeling in her chest she felt whenever Marius turned back to look at her.

After a while, she said "Monsieur Marius?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For bringing me to the Musain tonight, I mean. I'm very grateful."

"You're very welcome." Said Marius warmly.

"I'm also very confused."

He stopped walking. He looked at her, his face quizzical. "By what?"

"Look at this from my point of view. My next-door neighbor, whom I have never spoken to until this week, has paid a rent that wasn't his without a second thought, donated five francs to a poor family with money to spare, and has just brought a gamine to a cafe filled with the brightest young minds in Paris." She stood facing him resolutely, her arms akimbo. "Who exactly _are_ you, Monsieur Marius?"

To her astonishment, he laughed. "I had a feeling you were a clever one." He grinned. "I suppose I haven't been completely honest with you, Éponine. I'm not just a struggling law student. I am...a grand bourgeois."

She raised her eyebrows. "What?"

"Well, I will be, someday. Or maybe not. My grandfather, Monsieur Gillenormand, has the quite family fortune, and as the only son of his eldest child, I stand in line to inherit it."

"But if you're going to inherit a bourgeois fortune, then why on earth are you living in the bloody _Gorbeau tenement_?" Éponine demanded.

"Because of my father, Georges Pontmercy. He was a colonel in the Emperor's army, and he didn't get along well with my grandfather; the most stubborn old royalist you will ever meet. When I was a child, growing up in M. Gillenormand's household, I was never allowed to see him even once. When he died, and I learned about his life and his victories, I adopted his Bonapartist views." He laughed bitterly. "Grandfather was not very happy about that. We quarreled, and I left his house. I lived in Courfeyrac's flat for a while, until I was able to move out and rent that room in the Gorbeau tenement. He sends me sixty pistoles every six months-or rather, my aunt does-and we haven't spoken a word to each other in five years."

"That's so sad." Said Éponine.

He nodded agreement. "It is. I usually don't admit it, but there are times when I miss that old bourgeois. He was the only family I ever had." He looked out towards the river. "Éponine...none of my other friends know about my family's background. I'd apreciate it if you didn't tell them any of what I just told you."

She nodded earnestly. "Don't worry, Marius. I'll keep your secret safe."

He heaved a small sigh of relief. "Well, that's my story. What about you? I hardly know a thing about you aside from your name."

"And why should I tell you?"

"Considering I've just bared my soul to you, I think you owe it to me."

"Fair enough." Éponine conceded. "I don't have anything so dramatic, unfortunately. I grew up in a small suburb outside of Paris called Montfermeil. My father's business failed when my sister and I were children. We've been living in this city for years now, trying to scratch a living out of a few sous." '_And a few good robberies__._' She added mentally.

Marius's eyes widened. "Did you say Montfermeil?" He asked her.

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"When you were growing up there, was there a man living in that area named...oh, for God's sake, what was it? Daladier? Grenadier?" Finally, he seized on it. "Thenardier, yes! Was there a man named Thenardier?"

Éponine's heart froze. "Why would you want to know?"

"My father fought at Waterloo. A sergeant saved his life there, a man named Thenardier of Montfermeil. My father wrote to me, right before he died, telling me to find Thenardier and offer him any service that I could." Marius pursed his lips. "Although I doubt my father knew how far Thenardier would sink in later life."

Now Éponine was getting nervous. Papa had told them the story of how he'd saved the life of a general at Waterloo, of course; it was often the subject of his wounded pride in his begging letters. But he'd never mentioned a son being involved. Marius had clearly done some investigating in his search to find her father. Exactly how much did he know? "What do you mean, sink?" She asked cautiously.

He looked at her, surprised. "You haven't heard of him? They say he's the biggest criminal in Paris. Very adept at thieving, I've been told, but he won't hesitate to slit a throat or two." He shuddered. "Very dark man, very dark. It's really quite ironic, though; there is no man in this city I would rather meet less, and yet I must meet him and fulfill my father's wish by helping him."

'_Oh, don't worry about that, Monsieur Marius. You've helped him more often than you think_.' "How awful for you." Was Éponine's only comment.

She was silent for the entire rest of the way.


	13. A Bittersweet Revelation

**Chapter 13: A Bittersweet Revelation**

It was past midnight by the time Éponine returned to the Gorbeau tenement.

As quietly as she could, she crept into the Jondrette garret. Papa was snoring somewhere, and she could see the still outline of Maman beside him. She breathed a sigh of relief. They weren't awake to ask her where she'd been.

She laid down in the dark next to Azelma and tried not to make any sounds. She relaxed her body on the thin mattress, and closed her eyes.

She was almost asleep when Azelma suddenly whispered, "Where have you been, 'Ponine?"

If Éponine hadn't been so tired, she probably would have leaped ten feet into the air. As she was, she sat straight up on the bed and looked down at her sister, who was wide awake as well. "What are you talking about?" She asked breathlessly. "I've been nowhere!"

"You're lying. I've been up all night, waiting for you to come back to ask you. You're lucky Papa was out too; when he came back about an hour ago, he was too drunk to wonder if you were missing. And Maman knew better than to ask him."

"That's kind of her."

"Yes, it is. But you're avoiding my question. Where have you been, and what in God's name were you doing?"

Éponine sucked in a breath. She knew she could trust Azelma to keep her secret, but how much should she tell her? Just because she wasn't going to tell their father didn't mean that Éponine wanted her sister to know what she'd been up to tonight.

She limited her answer to a single sentence. "I was out with Monsieur Marius." She stated flatly.

Azelma scoffed. "I had a feeling he'd want something in return for giving us those five francs."

"What? No!" Éponine said, startled and embarrassed. "It was nothing like that; Monsieur Marius isn't that kind of gentleman, thank God. No, we were out at a cafe."

Her sister raised an eyebrow skeptically. "So our neighbor the student is taking you out to dinner now? Just the two of you?"

"No. He'd invited other friends as well."

"I suppose they all brought gamines too, then?"

"No. I was the only girl there."

Azelma crossed her arms and looked at her hard. "Éponine Thenardier, you tell me what's going on right now, or I'll wake up Papa, and he'll ask you."

Éponine sighed. "Fine. Monsieur Marius and I struck a deal the other day; if I searched for Cosette's address for him, then he would give me whatever I asked. I asked to go to one of his student meetings. So tonight I went. It's as simple as that."

Azelma rolled her eyes. "You call that simple, 'Ponine? It's a bloody great mess! You could have asked the boy for all the francs he had, and he'd fork it over to know where the Lark lives. Then, you could tell him the address right on the spot! It would be the greatest con ever!"

Éponine looked at her sister with disgust. "Do you _want_ to turn into Papa? I wasn't going to ask Marius for money; he's given us enough already. And for once, I wanted to try something _meaningful_ in my life. Not just steal and starve and run away. He gave me an opportunity for that. I took it."

"So, all in all, you've turned down the best offer of free money in your life, nearly brought Papa's wrath down on you several times over, gone to a meeting of radical bourgeois students, and still not told him that you know the address." Azelma said.

Éponine nodded. "All in all, yes. Does that amuse you?"

She smiled mischievously. "Oh, more than you know."

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't you see, 'Ponine? You're in love with Marius!" Azelma said excitedly.

"Am not!" Éponine contested hotly. She could feel her face turning red.

"Yes you are! Why else you risk so much for him by going out tonight, when Papa would hate you for it? Why else you not say that you know Cosette's address? Oh, 'Ponine; it's so romantic!"

"You're turning this into one of Maman's novels, and those are ridiculous enough as they are." Scolded Éponine. "First of all, Papa hates anything that I do that doesn't involve him getting richer. And two, why would I tell him the address _before_ I went to the café tonight? I would have gained nothing from doing that."

"Éponine, think hard for a moment here." Azelma said seriously. "How do you feel when you're with Monsieur Marius?"

She didn't have the slightest idea what to say. She remembered the way she'd felt after Marius had hugged her in the tenement the other day. She remembered how often she'd caught herself looking up at him tonight in the Musain. She remembered the feeling in her chest as they were walking down the embankment together. "I feel...comforted. I like having him around me, I think. We were walking back together by the river tonight, and...I felt very odd. It was as though I was inside a dream. A good dream. The moonlight made the pavement shine like silver, I remember. Starlight seemed to dance in the trees. For a while, I couldn't think about anything except the two of us, walking down that road forever."

Azelma gave a triumphant smirk.

Éponine covered her mouth, feeling amazed, thrilled, and horrified all at once. "Good God...I'm in love with Marius. 'Zelma, I'm in love with Marius!"

"And he's in love with the Lark." Azelma quipped.

Éponine's euphoria immediately disappeared. She let out a shaky laugh. "Aye. He is, isn't he? That's how I ended up in the Musain tonight. Because he loves Cosette, and not me. All those sweet, loving words he says, he'll say to Cosette; not to me. No matter how much I care about him, he will never feel the same way."

"You could always keep the address secret." Azelma suggested. "There's a million in one chance that he meets her again, once Papa robs her house."

"No." Éponine said firmly. "That would go against our bargain, and I gave him my word that I would find out where Cosette lives. I won't tell him just yet. But I will, when the time is right. I'll know when that is."

The two girls were silent for long minutes afterwards. At last, Azelma said "'Ponine? Do you think he'll ever love you back?"

"No."

"Will you ever tell him how you feel?"

"No."

"Why? Because of Cosette?"

"It's more than just Cosette. I say that I love him, but like I said; it's all a dream. Everything I just told you, about the lights, the trees, the river; all of it is only in my head. That's all this romance is. In my head. As soon as he is gone, I wake up from the dream and find nothing special about anything. There are no lights in the trees, and the river's just a river, like before. I love him, 'Zelma, I do...but only on my own."


	14. In the Darkness

**Chapter 14: In the Darkness**

"Get in there, you scum!" And the door to the garret burst open.

Éponine sprinted from the bed, dragging Azelma behind her, as a six and a half-foot tall _thing_ fell with a thud on the garret floor. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw that it was a man. Standing over him, like a pair of vultures, was Papa and Montparnasse. Thenardier smelled like spirits and foul brandy, and Parnasse was reaching into his coat pocket, where he kept his favorite knife.

"This is for stealing!" Thenardier shouted, and kicked the man hard. "And this is for lying!" A second kick. The second blow sent the man flying to Éponine's side. She got a look at his face, and gasped. His eyes were darker, and his nose was bloody, but she recognized him.

It was Monsieur Cambriol.

Montparnasse came up to the wounded man, completely ignoring Éponine and her sister as he passed. He drew Cambriol up to his feet, shoved him against the wall, and held his knife dangerously close to Cambriol's throat. "It's a shame you never acquired your cousin's skills at business, Alexandre." He said smugly. "Otherwise, you might have avoided being caught in this unpleasant situation."

"_Brûler en enfer, sale fils de putain!_" Cambriol spat.

Gritting his teeth, Montparnasse smacked Cambriol across the face, which sent the older man crumbling to the floor.

Recovering her wits at last, Maman, who'd awoken as well, shouted at her husband "What in God's name are you two doing?"

Thenardier pointed a shaky finger at Cambriol. "This swine," he began in a slurred voice. "Has withheld at least thirty francs from my partners, taken from the last heist pulled by both Patron-Minette and _Les Frères Souriant__. _Montparnasse and I are exacting the proper toll."___  
_

"You just want a good excuse to punch someone, you mean." Éponine said angrily.

Thenardier rounded on her. "One more word out of you, _fille_, and you can join him in his punishment." He hissed.

"Count me in!" Éponine goaded. "At least I can hit back this time. You're barely sober enough to stand on your feet, let alone give me a good thrashing. I wonder; if I sock you hard enough in the stomach, Papa, could I make you vomit out the wine? I bet I could."

"'Ponine!" Azelma said fearfully. "What are you doing?"

Papa's eyes dilated to little red points. He gave a roar of fury, and charged Éponine like a mad bull. She easily sidestepped his blow-which probably would have knocked out at least two of her teeth-and he went tumbling behind her, crashing into the broken chair and falling down in a heap. He attempted to stand, but failed.

Montparnasse rolled his eyes, dissatisfied. "If you don't mind helping us, 'Ponine, then why don't you go check and make that sure no one's around to see this?"

"Why the hell should I?" Éponine demanded.

"Because you like me enough to do it."

"I also like Monsieur Cambriol enough to not to."

Montparnasse reconsidered his answer. "Because if you don't, I'll hit you."

She snorted. "Please, Parnasse. I know you well enough to know that you won't-"

She was interrupted by Montparnasse's hand striking her cheek. The force of the blow was so strong, her eyes went fuzzy for a few moments, and there was a loud ringing in her ears. She gaped at the young assassin. Not once, in all the times they'd been together, had Parnasse _ever_ hit her. Not once.

"Go outside, and check the hallway." Montparnasse said dangerously. "Knock on the door of that annoying student boy, and see if he's at home. If he is, then knock his lights out. If you even try to refuse, I will hit you again. Try it twice, and the knife comes next."

Éponine walked slowly to the doorway. She was just about to leave, when she turned her head towards Montparnasse, hate burning in her eyes. "_Je te déteste._"

"The feeling is mutual." Montparnasse said coolly. "Now go and check on the student, before your father regains consciousness."

Trying not to run out the garret, Éponine hurried across the hall to Monsieur Marius's door. She collected her thoughts, took a deep breath, and knocked, just once, on the wooden door.

* * *

Marius had hidden under the bed for almost five minutes.

He'd awoken when he heard the loud crash in the Jondrette garret. Taking advantage of the peephole he'd discovered several days ago, he saw a sight he did not want to see. There was Jondrette, clearly drunk, and an accomplice pummeling some poor devil of a man into pulp. Éponine was there as well, trying to stop her inebriated father from doing any more harm to the man. Jondrette had raved something about a toll, and before Marius knew what was happening, he was trying to attack Éponine as well. She avoided his punches, thank God, and he sent himself hurtling into a table. That was when Marius crept underneath the bed, resolving not to come out until all the strange events going on next door had stopped.

Cowardly? Yes. Survivable? Also yes.

He was just about to consider coming out, when there was soft little _rap-tap-tap_ on his door. A hushed voice whispered "Monsieur Marius!"

It was Éponine's voice. He didn't answer.

She knocked again, and called again. Still he did not answer.

Silence came. Marius had almost thought she'd left, when suddenly there was a small clicking sound, and the door swung open.

Had Éponine just broken into his room?

From his hiding place, he saw her dirty feet walk inside and head straight towards the back of the room. For a terrifying moment, Marius thought she'd seen him, and was coming to bring him and do...well, he wasn't sure what she'd do, but he was in no mood to find out.

But she was only heading towards the mirror. He gazed up at her. She didn't seem very different from the last time they'd met, three days ago in the Cafe Musain. Only now, her features looked eerie and haunting in the moonlight, and she was smiling strangely as she checked her reflection in the mirror. She started to sing as she straightened her hair:

"_Notre amour était rien mais une évasion dans le passé_  
_Mais que du bonheur les instants sont courts!_  
_Un amour qui faute n'est pas mesure de durer_  
_Maintenant, le temps de notre amour s'est pris fin!_  
_En est venu à une fin! En est venu à une fin!"*_

She sighed discontentedly when she had finished her ballad. "Come on out, Monsieur Marius." She called. "I know you're in here."

Marius's heart skipped a beat, but he made no reply.

Above him, Éponine made what sounded like an amused snort. "This isn't hide and seek, you know. For one thing, I know where you are. You're hiding underneath your bed. Now, do you really want me to pull you out of there, or do you want to come out yourself?"

Ashamedly, Marius crawled, on his hands and knees, out from under the bed. He stood up and stared fixedly at Éponine. "How did you know I was there?" He asked, amazed.

She shrugged. "I heard your breathing." Was her only response. "But how did you know to hide?"

She noticed his eyes flicker towards the wall-only for an instant, and she caught it-and she smiled happily. "Ah, yes. I learned about your convenient little peephole the day Monsieur and Mademoiselle Fauchelevent came. Funny, I never took you for a spy."

"And I never took you for a burglar." He shot back, his frustration and confusion momentarily flaring. "Who _are _you, Éponine, that you can break into a man's room and locate where he's hiding in less than a minute?"

She just laughed enigmatically. "You learn a lot from living on the street every day, Marius. At this age, I know a good deal of things that I bet you don't."

"You did mention getting a better education that most gamines." Marius said dryly. "But I don't think education is the reason that a man is being attacked in your garret tonight, is it?"

"Your powers of observation are truly a wonder of France." She said sarcastically.

"Could you just be direct with me for once, 'Ponine? What is going on in there, and who are those two men?"

Éponine bit her lip, not answering. In a few seconds, however, she began to say "Papa was out drinking with some friends tonight. They must have gotten into some sort of fight in the tavern, and they've continued it right into the garret. Maybe someone thought someone cheated at cards. Anyway, Papa and the younger man, Jacques, are trying to goad the older man, Gaspard, into a duel-why, I don't know-and it's only a matter of time before someone falls down dead drunk and wakes up ten hours later with a hangover. So, really, we have nothing to worry about."

As if on cue, something heavy slammed to the floor in the other room, and there was the truly awful sound of metal piercing something soft. There was a groan of pain, and then silence.

Éponine's eyes widened. "I have to go." She said breathlessly. She ran as fast as she could out of the room, and shouted back to Marius: "Please, if you value your life, don't follow me."

She was about to cross the threshold when he grabbed her arm, stopping her. He looked at her seriously, her dark brown eyes wide with surprise. "We go in together." Marius said firmly. "Or not at all."

* * *

**Éponine's song:**

**Our love was naught but an escape from the past**  
**How briefly the moments of joy descend!**  
**A love that foul is not able to last**  
**Now the time of our love has come to an end!**  
**Has come to an end! Has come to an end!**


	15. The Debt Repaid

**Chapter 15: The Debt Repaid**

Silent as ghosts, the two of them entered the Jondrette garret. Papa had passed out, Montparnasse had disappeared, and Cambriol was lying on the floor, not moving. Maman was tending to her husband, taking no notice of Éponine and Marius. Azelma saw them come in, but she simply slunk in the shadows and remained silent.

Marius indicted the motionless Cambriol. "Is he dead?" He asked her.

She knelt beside him and checked his pulse. "No. He's still breathing."

"Who is he?"

"He's..." Éponine racked her brain to remember the false name she'd given Cambriol. "Gaspard." She said, remembering. "He's a friend of Papa's."

"Clearly, they're not good enough friends for your father to avoid stabbing him." Marius said ruefully. "Look at his waist."

Éponine, tracing her hand down Cambriol's side, found the spot where Montparnasse has stabbed him. Sticky blood coated her fingers, and her touch made the thief gasp with pain.

Cambriol opened his eyes, and, noticing Marius standing above him, asked Éponine softly "Montparnasse...?"

"He's gone." She whispered. "I don't know where. He must think he'd killed you."

"I almost wish he had." Said Cambriol, sitting up with some difficulty. He fixed his eyes tentatively on Éponine. "Why are you doing this?"

She took his cold hand in her own, which was scarcely any warmer. "Favor for favor, Alexandre." She told him. "You saved me from yourself that night. Now, I'm saving you from death. If you live, you may thank me properly."

"I'll make a note of it." The thief said sardonically. With Éponine's help, he got to his feet and leaned on her for support. He looked warily at Marius. "And who are you?"

Marius extended his hand. "My name is Pontmercy. I live next door to the Jondrettes."

Cambriol took it, and shook it as firmly as he could with his failing strength. "You are a friend of Éponine?"

"I am."

"Then I trust you." Cambriol said. "Do you know where I can find some bandages? I have to attend this wound before I die of it."

Marius smiled. "I can do better than that, monsieur. I have a friend who is a medical student. He lives not too far away from here, and I'm sure he'd be able to help you, even at this time of night."

Cambriol's face fell. "He wouldn't take in a man like me." He muttered.

"Nonsense! Joly accepts any person in need, and he never asks for much."

Éponine knew from Cambriol's face that money was not the reason for rejection, but she stayed silent. "If that is true, Monsieur Pontmercy, then your friend is a true gentleman. If you and Éponine wouldn't mind escorting me there, then I would be deeply in your debt."

Marius nodded. "I don't see why not. Éponine? Can you come?"

She nodded as well. Together, they helped Cambriol out of the garret, then the tenement, and into the street.

"Where does this Monsieur Joly live?" Cambriol asked Marius.

"Somewhere in the Latin Quarter. I don't remember his particular address. However, he did tell me that he and his mistress planned on visiting my other friend, Courfeyrac, tonight, and I know that he lives in the Hotel de la Porte Saint Jacques. Can you bear the journey?"

"I must bear it, if I want to live." Cambriol said resolutely.

And on that affirmation, the three of them began the walk to the hotel.

* * *

"Who is it?" A voice which sounded like Courfeyrac's called.

"It's Marius." He responded.

"What do you want?"

"Is Joly there?"

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"I have a man who desperately needs medical attention."

The door swung open, revealing a slovenly dressed Courfeyrac, who stood in a parlor room that was currently hosting Joly, Musichetta, and a dark-haired grisette whose name Marius and probably Courfeyrac did not know.

Courfeyrac seemed astonished, and rightly so, upon seeing a weary Marius and Éponine, supporting Gaspard between them. He'd fallen unconscious along the way, and the two of them had had to sling his arms around them to prevent him from collapsing on the pavement.

"Um...you three better come inside. Joly, Musichetta, help me clear the sofa." In a few moments, Gaspard was lying spread-eagle on the plush sofa, his breath rattling in his throat.

Courfeyrac looked at Éponine. "Sorry, but have we met before?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, we have. I'm the girl from the Musain who knew nothing about Rousseau, remember?"

"Ah, right! Éponine, now I remember. Marius's... friend." He winked at Marius conspiratorially as he said "friend". "So glad to see you again. How have you been?"

Before she could answer, Joly called Marius and Éponine over to the side of Gaspard. "This wound is very serious." He told them. "The cut was made by a _lingre_, which is a devilishly sharp knife at its dullest. It isn't going to make for an easy fix."

Marius looked at the red stain on Gaspard's side in horrid fascination. A _lingre_ was used mostly by the assassins and cutthroats that inhabited Paris. Could Éponine's father really consort with such people? Not for the first time, he found himself wondering just who Jondrette was.

Éponine ignored Joly's statement. "Can you save him?" She asked.

"I can save him, yes, but like I said, it won't be easy. It will require at least a half-hour of stitching, and that will have to be washed out and re-stitched later. I doubt I'll be finished by six o' clock tomorrow morning."

Éponine dug into her pocket and gave him a coin. "Five francs, and you're done by three."

He raised an eyebrow at her offer. "And what is this man to you, mademoiselle?"

"More than you know, Monsieur Joly." She said, iron in her voice. "Promise me that you will finish by three, and that he'll still be alive."

Joly looked at Éponine, than at Gaspard, the coin, then back to Éponine. He sighed. "I'll see what I can do."

She smiled gratefully. "Merci, Joly."

"You're very welcome. But there is one thing I want to know before I begin." Said Joly.

"What?"

"Who exactly am I tending to?"

Éponine bit her lip, trying to work up an answer. "His name is Gaspard Duvall. He's a...family friend."

Joly nodded, clearly not satisfied, but gratefully decided not to press her anymore. He glanced up at Musichetta. "You probably shouldn't stay for this, 'Chetta. The party has just become a hospital, I'm afraid."

Musichetta huffed indignantly, muttered something about foolish doctors, and left the apartment. Courfeyrac's grisette, who'd been staring for the past few minutes at Gaspard in stunned silence, followed her out the door. That left Marius, Éponine, Joly, Courfeyrac and Gaspard.

Courfeyrac yawned. "I suppose I should be off to bed now. I'll want to be wide awake for tomorrow."

"What for?" Marius asked.

Courfeyrac looked at him, momentarily confused, then he understood. "Oh, right. Enjolras hasn't told you yet. He wants us all at the Musain by one o' clock in the afternoon."

"But we just met on Sunday!" Marius said, aghast. "Is it so important to Enjolras to assemble us twice in one week?"

His friend shrugged. "As Grantaire would say, 'Apollo does not wait for the sun. The sun waits for Apollo'; whatever that means. Anyway, we're supposed to begin discussing the means of our revolution. Enjolras has been suggesting everything from street riots to barricades, and he wants to know our opinions."

Marius sighed. "I wish we could all share that fellow's drive for change. He sometimes forgets that we are nothing but mere mortals."

"Oh, I'm sure he never forgets." Said Courfeyrac wittily. "He just enjoys pretending that we're all gods like him. But enough about Enjolras. Do you plan on attending?"

"Certainly." Said Marius. "Now that Monsieur Duvall is being looked after, my only concern is how to get home. I didn't bring any money for a fiacre."

"You and Éponine walked here? While carrying a wounded man?"

"Yes and yes."

Courfeyrac whistled. "I praise your stamina, Pontmercy. However, I wouldn't recommend walking back as well. Your old room is still vacant next door, if you want to sleep there. Most of the furniture is gone, but the mattress remains."

Marius smiled gratefully at his friend. "Like old times, I suppose. But what about you, Éponine?" He said, turning to look at the gamine. "How will you get back to the Gorbeau tenement?"

"I will walk." She said simply.

"At this time of night?" Marius asked incredulously.

Éponine placed her hands on her hips stubbornly. "I've been out later and farther than this at night and had to trek home on foot. The journey from to the tenement is nothing I can't handle."

"Are you sure? Absolutely sure?"

Éponine patted his hand gently. "You're a good boy, Marius Pontmercy." She told him. "But you worry too much."

She made one of her awkward curtsies to him, to Joly and to Courfeyrac, and then she was gone.

Joly commented after she'd left, "I rather admire that girl. Most of the gamines I meet aren't nearly as fearless as she is. If I wasn't with Musichetta, I think I would be jealous of you, Marius."

"Don't be." Marius said. He bade farewell to his friends, and went to go get settled in the adjoining room. "We're not involved in that sort of way, I promise you. She's just a friend."

After Marius had left, Joly stared up at Courfeyrac in disbelief. "If he's not in love with Éponine, then who's he been mooning over these past months?"

Courfeyrac simply shrugged. "I have no idea. But I suppose we'll find out soon enough."


	16. A Beating in the Jardin du Luxembourg

**February**** 16, 1832**

**Chapter 16: A Beating in the Jardin du Luxembourg**

"So we are all agreed." Said Enjolras. "After the riots begin, we build our barricade at one of the two ABC cafes in Paris; either the Corinthe in Les Halles, or the Musain in the Place St. Michel. But which one?"

"The Corinthe." Feuilly suggested. "It's larger, better supplied, and it ends in a cul-de-sac, so the National Guard will only have one route to attack us by. Also, more workers live in that area, so we can count on them for more support if our own insurgents fall."

Enjolras nodded agreement, and all the other members of the ABC Society did likewise. "The Corinthe it is then." Said Enjolras. "Well done, _mes amis_. We're starting to cover all of our participants; we are the students, and our brothers in Les Halles are the workers. I've put together an idea on how to rally the poor." He looked to Marius keenly. "Do you still know that gamine, Éponine?"

"Yes." Marius said, a bit stiffly.

"Do you think you could convince her to spread the word about the rebellion in her own circles? Paris's beggars are getting more restless every day, what with the recent cholera outbreak and no money coming their way. I'm sure she'd be able to fan the flames a bit."

Marius tried to imagine Éponine, with her tattered dress and raspy accent, calling on the city's poor to stand up and fight, in the second revolution in two years, for a group of students with dreams of a republic. He failed. '_She has a better chance of moving out of the Gorbeau tenement and into the Faubourg Saint Germain_.' He thought, amused with the idea.

"With students, workers, and poor fighting along each other, then with luck the people of Paris will rise as well, and we will be victorious." Enjolras continued. Then he grinned. "And now that we have our catalyst, all we need is the right time."

"Catalyst?" Prouvaire asked. "What catalyst? I thought we didn't have one."

"Oh, we do." Enjolras said, clearly enjoying his friends' ignorance. "But I'm afraid you're going to have to wait until next time to find out what it is."

Bahorel rolled his eyes. "This isn't a serial in the papers, Enjolras. You don't have to keep us in suspense."

"You're right, I don't." Enjolras agreed. "But I do enjoy doing it."

Grantaire gave a small gasp. "Do I dream?" He asked dramatically. "Or does Apollo show that rare slice of humor hidden inside him? I thought it had died years ago."

Some of the students chuckled at that. Enjolras dismissed them, and the nine of them left the Cafe Musain.

Now that the meeting was over, Marius had no idea what to do with the rest of the day. There was nothing to do in the Gorbeau tenement, and most of his friends had likely already made plans beforehand.

So he decided to go where he always went when he was uneasy. He took a walk to the Jardin du Luxembourg.

* * *

Éponine ran as fast as her legs could carry her.

Or rather, she limped as fast as her legs could carry her. Her left leg had been badly bruised. Maybe broken.

Did she regret the choices she'd made that had inflicted this pain upon her? No. The image of Cambriol lying safe on Courfeyrac's couch banished any thoughts of self-pity from her mind.

She looked at her surroundings. She hadn't stopped moving since leaving the Gorbeau tenement, and she had no idea where she might have wandered. However, she knew where she was now, thanks to the trees, the pond, and the wilting flowers. She often spent time here in the summer with Azelma or Gavroche, pretending they were three perfectly normal and happy children without a care in the world. What a sweet fantasy that was!

'_This is the Jardin du Luxembourg_.' She thought, partially satisfied. '_It's almost empty at this time of day, but I may be able to still stay_ _hidden._' Even so, she pulled her cap low to hide her face, wrapped her coat around her tightly, and pretended to stroll through the gardens.

She did this for some ten minutes, before deciding to rest at last on a park bench. It was already occupied by someone, but she doubted they'd care. So she sat down anyway, and tried to ease her throbbing leg.

She wasn't sure how he recognized her. Maybe her cap had moved away from her face. But after a few minutes of looking around the garden for her pursuers, she heard the man next to her say "Éponine?"

Éponine looked at him, and her heart jumped into her throat. It was Marius, and he was looking at her with an expression of confusion, and even fear. He had a right to; her right eye was slightly blackened, her lip was split, her hands were very red and there were probably a few blood stains on the trench coat. She must have looked as though she'd crawled out a grave.

She suddenly hated herself for caring so much about how she looked in front of Marius. When on earth had she turned into such a _girl_?

"Yes." She said. "It's me."

"What happened to you?"

She pointed to her eye and her lip. "Do I really need to explain?"

"Well...no." He said by way of apology. "What I mean is, _who_ did this to you?"

Before Éponine could answer, an angry shout nearby called out, "You!"

Foolishly, she turned to look at who it was, and her fears doubled. It was Thenardier, sober as a judge and mad as a bull; his worst possible state. Worse still, he had Montparnasse with him; the faithful hound who follows the pack leader.

Feebly, she tried to get up and take off, but she was much too fatigued to outrun her father and Parnasse. Papa caught up to her and, completely ignoring the presence of Marius, slapped her hard across the face. Éponine fell to the ground, her eyesight going fuzzy.

Marius stood up, aghast. "Monsieur Jondrette!" He said in disbelief.

Thenardier sneered at him. "Stay out of this, mome." He said. "This isn't your affair."

Marius crossed his arms defiantly. "I'm afraid it is, monsieur. Éponine is my friend, and I will not have her harmed."

Montparnasse let out a wicked laugh. "Girls like 'Ponine don't have any friends, laddie. Just women she starves with and men who cough up a sou to spend a night with her."

"Stop it!" Éponine cried. This was the scene that haunted so many of her nightmares. Thenardier was bearing down on her, angry and ready to hurt, and Montparnasse, with his cruel words and insults. But this time, it was real. And worse, Marius was here, witnessing her humiliation as the lie she'd built around herself was starting to fall down.

"_Stop it!?_" Thenardier screeched. "Stop it, she says! I should be the one telling you to stop, my girl! Why, if I'd been awake last night, I might have been able to stop you from helping that miserable, thieving fleabag Cambriol, who was supposed to have died yesterday. But I wasn't. So you can imagine my surprise this morning, when I'm walking down the road, and I see a dead man strolling along in front of me! That's a bit of a nasty shock, innit? But it was a worse shock to learn that _my_ daughter, my own flesh and blood, saved that wretched creature's life!"

"He'd done nothing wrong to you or Patron-Minette, Papa!" Éponine yelled at him. "Neither you nor Montparnasse had a right to kill him!"

"And you had no right to save him!" Thenardier yelled back. He kicked her wounded leg, and she stifled a yelp of pain.

Marius grabbed Thenardier's arm. "That's _enough_, Monsieur Jondrette. Leave her be." He said with iron in his voice.

Montparnasse gritted his teeth. "You don't know who you're dealing with, boy. Stand aside, now, and let us take care of his whore-daughter."

Marius took a deep breath, and looked at Montparnasse with more hatred than Éponine had ever seen him look at anyone with. "I swear on my life, monsieur, you will not call her that again." He said dangerously.

"What's it to you?" Papa demanded. "Get out of my way, Pontmercy, or I'll have to hurt you too."

Marius took a protective step in front of Éponine. "No. I will not allow you to kill your own daughter, as you almost did this man Cambriol."

"Oh, we don't plan on killing her, monsieur." Montparnasse said slickly. "Her Papa just wants to teach her a lesson about what it means to help the wrong person."

Marius nodded slowly, but he still didn't move out of the men's way. "But where will happen to her, once you and her father had dealt out your justice? Where will she go?"

"Wherever whores go."

Then, something completely unexpected happened. Marius's fist went flying, and Montparnasse crumbled to his knees. He clutched his face in pain, his fingers becoming red.

"I told you not to call her that again." Marius said coldly.

"You broke my nose, you _bloody idiot_!" Montparnasse whined.

"Be grateful that is the only thing I have broken, Monsieur whatever-your-name-is. Leave now, and I promise I will not hurt you again."

Montparnasse looked up at him, hate burning in his eyes, and then slunk away. With his lackey gone, Thenardier spit on the ground at Marius's feet, and left the gardens as well.

Marius knelt on the ground beside Éponine. She looked at him, dazed, not quite sure what had just happened. Marius, _her _Marius, the boy she'd never seen harm a fly, had just punched Montparnasse, the fourth most dangerous criminal in Paris, in the nose. The realization of that, and the shock caused by it made her barely conscious of him stroking his hand across the bruise under her eye. "Are you alright, 'Ponine?" He asked tenderly.

She nodded dumbly.

He smiled, relieved. "Good. Do you need anything? Do you want Joly to take a look at you?"

Éponine shook her head. It was humiliating enough to have Marius see her in this state. She didn't want the rest of Les Amis to know about this as well.

"Well, at the very least you need to rest. I'd suggest going back to Gorbeau House, but I'm afraid that your father will get there before we do."

"He won't." Éponine said softly. "I'm sure of it." She had no idea why. Maybe she was just trying to be hopeful, but she somehow knew that her father wouldn't be returning to the Gorbeau tenement tonight.

"Can you walk?"

"I think so." She stood up, and to her surprise, her leg did not buckle beneath her. '_It should get me back to the tenement, at least._' She decided. But before she went, there was something that needed to be done sooner.

"Marius?"

"Yes?"

"I want to stop lying to you, right now, and tell you the truth."

He looked at her suspiciously. "But you haven't lied to me."

She sighed. "Marius," She said sadly. "You don't even know my real name."

Marius frowned. "What do you mean, 'Ponine?"

"I mean that my name is not Éponine Jondrette. It is Éponine Thenardier."

Marius took a step back. "Thenardier?" He asked, astounded. "Then that man-your father-is _the_ Thenardier?"

She nodded grimly. "The man who saved your father's life, and the man who has become the most villainous gang-leader in Paris. His accomplice was Montparnasse, one of the four criminals in the Patron-Minette. He is my former lover as well as partner in some of Thenardier's schemes. I am everything that he accused me of being, and more."

Marius said nothing. He just stood there, gaping at her, as though she'd just told him that she had the power to grow wings and take flight.

"I'm sure that you must be very... _unsettled_ right now, Monsieur Marius. You have a right to be. But please, stay here and try to let me explain. My story is not a pretty one, by any means, but it's one worth telling. And one that I've been hiding from you for far too long."


	17. The Fall of Kore

**Chapter 17: The Fall of Kore**

You should know, I wasn't always a gamine. Once, I was just a little girl, playing with dolls and living in that fantasy-world that all eight-year old girls live in. How long ago that all seems!

My parents ran an inn at Montfermeil when I was a child. My father had opened it with the spoils of war he'd gotten from Waterloo, and business was fair in those parts. It helped that part of the income was the belongings we pick-pocketed from the guests. One of my earliest memories is my father smiling warmly at a man when he entered the inn, and Maman behind him, reaching into his valise for a wallet.

When I was about three, and my sister Azelma maybe two, a woman gave Maman her daughter to look after while she went to find work. Well, "look after" is not exactly what she did. She forced the girl to become the maid, and made her take care of me and Azelma. The way the two of us treated her was terrible, and we knew it. But who was going to stop us? The two of us were spoiled beyond belief, and hardly took any real notice of the raggedy girl who did our chores for us.

Everything changed when I was eight. A man came and took her away. Papa didn't like that, since he still needed her service, but fifteen hundred francs later and she was the gentleman's.

What could have happened if she stayed with us, I don't know. But two years after the servant girl left, when I was ten, Papa's debts finally became too big to pay off. The inn closed down, and we were turned out on to the street, with five mouths that needed feeding.

So Papa moved us to Paris, in the hopes of finding some work there. He did, but not the kind of work we thought he would.

A failure in business, Papa became involved in the Parisian underworld. Pantin, they called it. I'd always known that my father was greedy, and wouldn't hesitate to bend the law a little to his will. But what he did in '24 and '25... armed robbery, burglary, poaching, swindling, pilfering. There was no way to slack his thieving. The bourgeoisie spoke in fear of "Le Chacal", the Jackal, because he was most infamous for his grave-robbing. The morgue became like a second bank to him, and desecration meaningless.

Well, his profits from that life began to dry up in the winter of 1826. The law was tightening around him and his gang, and more and more jobs went wrong. He was almost arrested twice. So he started using me as his watchdog. He tried to use Azelma too, but I never let him, even if he hit me. I wasn't going to let my sister suffer what I was suffering. Almost every other night, I would be out with him and whatever foot-pads he'd hired as backup, keeping an alert eye while they trapped some poor bourgeois in a room and robbed him of all he owned, or smuggled something to the taverns and brothels of Pantin.

But Papa's money was still critically low, and we were very hungry. Gavroche, our younger brother, who'd already tried to run away three times by then, finally took off for good and became a gamin. Once he left, Azelma became as frail as glass, and Maman hard as a stone.

Papa realized that he'd have to start getting rid of everything he owned to stay out of utter poverty; any chairs, blankets, clothes, and even food that could be spared he sold off. And still we were hungry. That was when I'm sure my father lost the last shred of humanity in him; when he sold me as well.

It's no use in telling you what we, what _I_, went through from 1827 to the end of 1829; it's a chapter of my life simply too miserable to tell to anyone, even you. But do you know something strange, Monsieur Marius? I've forgotten the faces of all those men over time. They're just shadows of the past now. But I remember all the names; Renault, Parquet, Martel, Montfort, Nervier, Corneille...those will always stay with me. I hated all of them, and I resisted them for as long as I could, just to prove that I wasn't like those nervous, stuttering sluts they called their mistresses. Since those six, I've added Fourier, Monet, and Chapard to the list as well.

Oh. And I suppose Montparnasse too. I've never really been sure about him. He can act just as foul as the others, but he can also be a good boy when he wants to. He never hurt me, at least. He liked to leave that to Papa.

Anyway, Papa's luck turned around in 1830 with the arrival of Patron-Minette: the foulest quartet of villains you'd ever seen. Their lackey, Brujon, was hardly any better. They saw a kindred spirit-I mean that as an insult-in Papa, and he began to deal more and more with them.

Thanks to Patron-Minette, Papa moved us from living under a bridge to the Gorbeau tenement. It's too cruel to call it hell, but too generous to call it paradise. It was simply the purgatory that we had taken residence in, and from that place Papa spread his web of crime all over Paris. Le Chacal had returned.

And for me? Every day was a punishment, and every evening a nightmare. I had only two choice remaining to me in my life; to stay by my father's side and take his beatings and his crimes, or to sleep in ditches. I chose the former, not because I had any love left for him, but because I was simply too stubborn to show him that I quit.

Since the New Year, Papa has changed. He's more bitter than ever now, even though he's not as penniless as he once was. He insists that soon we'll be eating roast duck with the money from some great job, but no great job ever comes around. He's drunk more often than he's sober, and he hits me and 'Zelma more than ever now. You think that drubbing he and Parnasse gave me was bad? It was a friendly pat compared with what I've taken.

He started writing the begging letters about six months ago. Azelma and I would be gone for hours, even days, trying to deliver them all. He got angry if we didn't hand out every last one. He wanted all of Paris to know that there was a miserable old penury-man who deserved their charity. Fool! Only one in four letters ever got answered, and even then the blame fell on me and my sister.

I don't suppose you know this, but I saved your life last week. Papa planned on robbing that philanthropist, Monsieur Fauchelevent, in our garret when he came to visit, but he thought you might interfere. He and Patron-Minette was all for slitting your throat, but I said it would be better if he saw how poor we were. Then, he'd never guess that we might try to rob someone for money. So Papa wrote a letter to you, thanking you for paying his rent, and sent me to deliver it.

The rest you know.


	18. Why Regret What Could Not Be?

**Chapter 18: Why Regret What Could Not Be?**

Éponine didn't say anything to Marius once she had finished her story. To be perfectly truthful, she didn't know what she _could_ say. She had never told anyone outside of her family about her past. What would he think about her now, now that he knew exactly who and what she was?

Neither of them had moved from where they were sitting, on the pavement in the Jardin du Luxembourg. Nobody had come or gone in that time, and the only audience present was the bare winter trees and the cold, biting winds. Aside from them, the garden was as empty and silent as a tomb.

Marius was looking at her fixedly when she stopped talking. Then, without warning, he leaned down and kissed her on the forehead.

She looked at him, amazed. "Why did you do that?" She asked him.

"Because if it had been me going through that hell, I would died long, long ago." He said tenderly. "But you are still here, and unlike your father, you have kept your honor. I don't think I've ever been so proud to call someone my friend, Éponine. You're the bravest person I know."

Every word that he said just made her heart melt even more than it already. "You shouldn't feel proud of me, Monsieur Marius. Girls like me, well...we don't belong around bourgeois students like you."

"What do you mean?" Asked Marius.

'_I mean that I'm trying to say that I'm love with you, but I can't get the words out._'

"I mean that we're from different worlds. I faced the truth a long time ago, Marius. People just don't come out of Pantin once they're in it. That man you saved recently? Gaspard? That was really Alexandre Cambriol, the thief, and he's wanted to leave Pantin since his sister died. But he can't. It's impossible for him, and it's impossible for me and my sister and my brother." She took a shaky breath. "There's nothing about me to call special, Marius."

She got up, ready to go back to the tenement now. But before she could, Marius pulled her back down to the pavement. He turned her face towards him and said "Listen carefully, 'Ponine. I don't care if you're the lowest creature in Paris, or if you're the Queen of France. You're still my friend, and that will not change."

Éponine stared at him hard, almost angry that he wasn't taking this the way she wanted him to. But then she laughed. "Has anyone ever told you how persistently stubborn you are?"

He grinned. "I like to call it "persistently loyal". And yes." Then he helped lift her back up to her feet. "Do you want to go back to the tenement now, so you can rest?"

She nodded. Leaning on Marius for support, the two of them began the long walk back to Gorbeau House.

"It's true what he said, you know." Éponine said.

"Who said what was true?"

"Montparnasse. He's right when he said I don't have friends. I've only got one." She smiled gratefully at Marius. "You."

* * *

"Is it broken?" Éponine asked Joly nervously.

The medical student shook his head. "It should be, after sustaining a blow like that, but it isn't. You're a very lucky girl, Éponine. You still shouldn't leave this bed yet-I recommend you rest for at least two hours-but after that, you should be able to walk as easily as before."

She smiled. "Well, that's good news."

Marius laughed. "I suppose you're happy that I convinced it was a good idea to let Joly take a look at you, then?"

Éponine rolled her eyes. When she and Marius had arrived back at the tenement, her leg had started to ache terribly, and ached to such a point to where she consented to having Joly come and examine her. He didn't ask any questions about how she'd been injured, thank God, and after a quick examination he'd made his results.

Joly packed away his equipment and moved towards the door. He was about to leave when Eponine said "Joly? May I ask, how is Monsieur Gaspard?"

"Your friend who got knifed? Oh, he's fine. He recovered some time yesterday, thank me many times over, and left."

"Did he tell you where he was going?" She asked eagerly. "I would like to speak with him again."

"I'm afraid not. Good day." Joly tipped his hat to them, and was gone.

Marius looked at her as though she was crazy. "I'm sorry, you _want_ to meet up with the most notorious thief in Paris?"

"I told you, Alexandre is different." Éponine said angrily. "He never wanted to go back to thieving; his foul cousin Chapard pulled him back in. He...protected me one night."

"What do you mean, "protected" you?" Marius asked.

Éponine bit her lip. She knew that Marius didn't judge her about her past, but still. It was eerie to talk about something so scarring, yet so recent. "Papa wanted _Les Frères Souriant _for...a job he was planning." She could not bring herself to confess that Thenardier was, even now, preparing to rob Monsieur Fauchelevent and Cosette. "Whether they wanted something extra, or he offered them another bribe, I don't know, but Chapard..." She didn't finish.

Marius's expression softened, and he sat down beside her on the bed. "I see. But Cambriol didn't?"

She nodded. "He gave me some cake and wine for supper. Nobody had ever done that before. And he didn't ask anything of me. Not one thing. His sister, he told me, had been a similar situation, and she died. Since then, he'd sworn to help any woman so abased."

"If that is true, then I have severely misjudged this man." Said Marius. "The ABC Society does not discriminate by social standing, and as such we alll have a certain affection for the fallen poor, _Les Misérables."_

"What?"

"Nothing. Just an expression Enjolras and Prouvaire created one night." Marius reached across the bed, and handed her a stack of his books. "You won't be able to get up for a while, so you'll have to find a way to entertain yourself. Will this do?"

Éponine nodded gratefully. "Yes, thank you."

"Don't mention it." Marius got up, and walked over to his desk, picking up another book and began to read himself.

Éponine skimmed over the books' titles. They were all histories of some sort; the conquests of Napoleon, the rise and fall of the French Republic, and a biography on Robespierre and the Committee for Public Safety.

She picked up the second book first. '_Might as well start at the beginning.'_ She thought. She opened it, and something fell out. It was a letter. Éponine might have ignored it, if it hadn't been addressed to "Mademoiselle Cosette Fauchelevent".

Marius had written a letter to Cosette. Her curiosity and her jealousy got the better of her, and, making sure that Marius wasn't looking at her, she opened it.

She read it, and almost gasped audibly when she was finished. It was a love-letter, plain and simple. Marius detailed how he'd spotted Cosette in the Jardin du Luxembourg, how she had enthralled him so, his despair at losing the sight of her, and the incredible hope and joy he'd felt by seeing her again the Gorbeau tenement. He had ended it by writing how certain he was that they would be again, someday.

Éponine held the letter very tightly in her hands. She remembered what she'd said to Azelma that night; "_All those lovely words he says, he'll say to Cosette; not to me._" And here was the proof.

She looked over at him, reading at his desk. She wondered how more of these letters he would write, none of them ever sent because he didn't know where she was. Dozens, perhaps. Maybe hundreds. Éponine wondered how Marius would feel if he learned where Cosette lived. Ecstatic, most likely. But how would he feel about _her_, once she told him? As grateful as he had been when she'd accepted to look for Cosette? Even more, maybe?

Then Éponine thought of something else. She remembered how she'd told Marius that he had no reason to feel proud of calling her his friend. He didn't believe it, but she thought it was still true.

If she led Marius to his true love, she would have done something truly good. And Marius could finally feel proud of her.

"Marius?" She said suddenly.

"Yes?"

"I have the address."

He stared at her, stupefied. "What?"

"I have Mademoiselle Fauchelevent's address. I found it, um, the other day." She said, quickly making up an alibi. "I wanted to tell you as soon as I could, but first Monsieur Cambriol got hurt, and then..."She gestured at her leg. "Well, then this happened. But I want to tell you now. I know where she lives, and I can lead you there."

Marius shot to his feet. "When can we go?"

"Tonight, if you want. As soon as my leg is better."

Marius laughed gaily. "That's wonderful! Tonight, you say? Oh, Éponine," He said, sinking back into his chair and grinning like a fool. "Thank you."

She forced herself to smile. "What are friends for?"


	19. Lark's Joy, Rose's Gloom

**Chapter 19: Lark's Joy, Rose's Gloom**

When the two of them had reached the gates of Number 55, Rue Plumet, Marius started to hum a song; something Éponine found very delightful, yet extremely annoying at the same time.

"What are you humming?" She asked him.

He smiled. "It's one of Prouvaire's love poems; the only one I ever bothered to listen to, because it was so good. Something about this journey-going to meet Cosette-just made me want to sing it again."

"What are the words?"

Marius thought for a moment, then sang in a soft, yet operatic, tone "_In my life, she had burst like the music of angels, the light of the sun. And my life seems to stop as if something is over and something is scarcely begun._" He laughed, delighting in the sheer gaiety of the words. Then, without warning, he took Éponine by the arms and spun her around a little, causing her to laugh in surprise. "Éponine, you're the friend who has brought me here, thanks to you..." His smile broadened, and he went on with the poem: "_I am one with the gods, and heaven is near! And I soar through a world that is new, that is free!_"

'_Every word that he says is a dagger in me._' Éponine thought, creating her own bittersweet parody. '_In my life, there's been no one like him anywhere. Anywhere, where he is...if he asked, I'd be his._'

"Is that all?"

"No, there was one last verse. I think it went-" Marius stopped suddenly, and looked at something, or someone, in the garden. Éponine followed his gaze, and saw a girl in a white dress, sitting daintily on a bench surrounded by flowers.

"There she is." Marius breathed. He sighed jovially. "I haven't failed, then." He looked at Éponine. "Once again, I thank you with all my heart, Éponine. If ever you have need something, I will be there to give it."

'_There is _one_ thing that I need._' She thought sadly. '_But I doubt you can give it._'

She hadn't realized that she'd spoken aloud. As if knowing what it was she meant, Marius dug into his pocket and brought out a five-franc coin, just like the one he'd given her father last week.

Éponine remembered how she'd reacted the last time Marius had given her money, with that outburst of argot in the Gorbeau tenement. Perhaps he expected her to do the same thing now. She certainly hoped not.

She pressed the coin back into his hand. "I don't want your money." She said somberly. She waved a hand towards the iron gate. "Your Juliet awaits, Monsieur Romeo. Go and claim her." She said nonchalantly.

Marius obliviously obeyed. Silently, he approached the garden, continuing the poem as he walked. "_In my life, there is someone who touches my life. Waiting near..."_

That was all that Éponine could take. She fled behind a nearby wall, determined to make herself invisible to Cosette as well as Marius. She knew she had no right to feel sorry for herself-all that was happening was her own doing-but that did nothing to keep the pain away from her heart.

"_Waiting here_." She concluded.

* * *

"Cosette!" A voice whispered.

She flinched at the sound, startling her out of her thoughts. She turned to face him, and her eyes widened."Marius?"

He nodded.

She ran as quickly as she could to the edge of the garden, with only the gate separating them. Her heart was hammering wildly in her chest. Could it truly be he? "What has taken you so long? Oh, it feels as though I've waited for ages!"

"I didn't know where-" He stopped, awestruck. "Wait. You've been waiting...for...for _me_?"

Cosette nodded. She was so happy to see him again! She knew that she would, and she had been right. "I tried to convince Papa to go back to your tenement to help the Jondrettes somehow, but he wouldn't listen to me. He's been acting very strange towards me since that day we met. So I tried to go back myself to talk to you, but Toussaint, our maid, stopped me."

"But why did you want to see me again?"

"Because I had to ask you something. Could you answer it?"

"Of course, _mon cœur_, of course!"

"When we were talking in the garret...did you feel something?"

"Feel what?" Marius asked.

"Feel as though..."Cosette struggled for the words. Just being this near to him was enough of a thrill, but revealing her heart to him was an experience all its own. "As though you soul was suddenly on fire?"

He nodded earnestly. "As though the world would go black if you weren't there?" He said, continuing the game.

"As though you had finally found the meaning of desire?" Said Cosette teasingly.

"And had forgotten the meaning of despair?" Marius smiled jovially. "Yes, Cosette. That is exactly what I felt."

Cosette's heart soared. "I felt the same way." She said lovingly. "I _feel _the same way."

Marius raised his hand to her through the gate, as though he wanted to touch her face. But before he did, he pulled it back.

He must have seen the anguished expression on her face, because he immediately said "I'm sorry. It's just...I've imagined this moment ever since the Jardin du Luxembourg, though I suppose you don't remember me from then. I've dreamed it so many times, and now that it is happening, I can hardly believe that you are real, and that I am not dreaming."

She took his hand in her own, and their fingers intertwined. "This isn't a dream, Marius." She said, smiling. "We're both awake."

He laughed softly. "I suppose it isn't. And to think; none of this would be possible if Éponine hadn't-" He stopped when he said the name, as though it reminded him of something. "Where is she?" He wondered aloud. He cupped his hands and called "'Ponine? Where are you?"

Cosette saw a dark-haired gamine come out from behind a wall. She wore a wrinkled white dress partly hidden beneath a man's trench coat, a brown cap like those the newspaper boys wore, and no shoes. Cosette immediately recognized her as the elder Jondrette daughter. But her name, Éponine, triggered another memory that Cosette could not name.

The girl walked, almost sullenly, up to the gate and stood beside Marius. "Good evening, mademoiselle." She said hoarsely.

"Cosette, this is my friend Éponine." Marius introduced. "It's thanks to her that we are together again."

"It's a pleasure to meet you again, Éponine." Cosette said kindly.

Éponine laughed bitterly. "I don't see why."

Cosette, startled at the harsh reply, asked "Why is that?"

Éponine sighed, and brushed her hair out of her face. "Look hard at me for a moment, Cosette. Is there no old child, no old inn, no old servant, no old time, rising in your mind, _Alouette_?"

Cosette gasped at the sound of that nickname, which meant "Lark". Images of the past, horrible images, appeared in her mind; a wild-haired woman screaming insults at her and hitting her; two little girls playing with their dolls, taking no notice of her; and in the dark woods, a man, her father, who picked up her bucket and carried it and her away from there.

"Éponine..._Thenardier_?" She asked breathlessly.

Her former foster-sister spread her hands mockingly. "In the flesh."

Marius frowned. "You two have met before?"

Cosette nodded, trying her best to push the memories away. "I lived with Éponine's family for some time when I was a girl, back when they lived in Montfermeil. We haven't seen each other in nine years." She stared in wonder at the gamine. "Éponine...how can it be? How are you in Paris, and why is your name now Fabantou? And why are you wearing those clothes? You always had the finest dresses when we were children together, and now..."

Éponine laughed again, and tried in vain to smooth the wrinkles out of her dress. "Look what's become of me now, you mean." She said, without a trace of self-pity.

Cosette fingered the hinges of the gate, wondering how best to steer the conversation away from Éponine's current situation. "So, you have been a friend of Marius's for a long time?" She asked.

Éponine shrugged. "I hardly knew him a month ago. But then my Papa wanted to thank him for something, and we met when I gave him a letter. A little while later, he asked me to find your address for him." She shrugged again. "It was no problem. I know my way around Paris, so I looked for you and found you. And here we are now."

"Well, thank you for doing this." Cosette said. "Everything that Marius and I will share in time to come, we will know that we have you to thank."

Éponine was about to reply, when there was a loud, collective sound down the street, like the moving of many feet.

The gamine's eyes widened. "What is today?" She asked them urgently.

"Um, the sixteenth?" Said Cosette.

Éponine cursed in frustration. "Mon Dieu, I've forgotten. Oh, Marius, Cosette; what have I done?" She despaired.

"Éponine, what's going on?" Marius asked her.

"I don't have time to explain. But it's critical that you two get out of sight. _Right. Now._" Éponine pointed to the back of Cosette's garden. "Cosette, hid yourself in those trees. A few scrape marks are nothing compared to what you'll experience if you don't." Then she turned to Marius. "I want you to get down that road, and to not stop moving until you reach the Rue de Babylone."

Marius set his jaw. "I'm not going anywhere, 'Ponine." He said stubbornly. "I didn't hide in the Gorbeau tenement that night, and I'm not hiding now."

"This is much worse than the Gorbeau tenement." Éponine hissed. "Much worse, I swear. Please, Marius," Her voice broke a little. "You said that we were friends. If we are, then please listen to me, even just this once."

Marius inhaled, and looked furtively at Éponine, then Cosette. "I will return soon." He promised. And with that, he took off down the Rue Plumet.

Éponine fixed her attention back to Cosette. "I'm the only hope for driving them away. If they see you, that hope is lost."

"I understand." Said Cosette, even though she hardly knew what was going on. But if whatever was coming made Éponine fearful, then Cosette knew that it was best to trust her.

She ran and hid in the trees like Éponine told her to. Her last sight of the gamine before retreating was her standing defiantly, her hands on her hips, facing a group of men armed with pistols, knives and clubs. One of them stepped forward, and growled to his companions: "Who is this hussy?"


	20. Éponine's Vain Attempt

**Chapter 20: Éponine's Vain Attempt**

**"**It's your brat, Éponine!" Babet hissed at Thenardier. "Don't you know your own kid, Thenardier?"

"Why, Monsieur Babet, how rude of you! No hello for your old friend?" Said Éponine, trying to keep her voice causal. In the dim light, she could make out the eight silhouettes of the prowlers who had come to rob the Fauchelevent house: her father, the four member of Patron-Minette, Brujon, and two others who could only have been _Les Frères Souriant_; Marceau Chapard and Alexandre Cambriol.

She swallowed. Cambriol had been kind to her before, but they had been alone then. Now, there were seven other gangsters present who didn't give two snaps of their fingers for her. Would he act differently towards her this time, now that he could not mask his generosity?

"Why, this is quite a troop my father has brought along!" Éponine exclaimed. "Good evening, Monsieur Babet, Monsieur Brujon, Monsieur Claquesous, Monsieur Gueulemer. Hello to you too, Monsieurs Chapard and Cambriol. How goes it, Montparnasse? You'll be happy to know that my leg is feeling much better. Though I doubt your nose is."_  
_

The young assassin scowled, and rubbed his newly crooked nose. There were spots of dried blood around it, and it was an unnaturally red color. Whether that was because of Marius's punching or Montparnasse's rubbing, Éponine didn't know.

Thenardier rolled his eyes. "Yes, well, you've said your hellos. Tell me; have any cops come round yet?"

It took Éponine a moment to discover what her father meant. Thenardier, of course, had dismissed the entire affair of her beating that afternoon, and had assumed that she was still the watchdog in the robbery against Fauchelevent. Which meant that he knew nothing about Marius being nearby.

"No, not one copper." She said quickly, which wasn't a lie. "This entire street's been deserted for some time. I've been waiting almost twenty minutes for you lot to show up and do the deed. You've waited for this moment...how long, Papa? Nine, ten years to strike back at your elusive millionaire?"

Thenardier tightened his grip on his axe. "Don't tease me, girl." He warned. "Now, step aside. I'm going to break the lock on that gate and go into the garden, check to make sure no one's there."

Éponine laughed. "What? Who do you expect to be lurking in there? I've kept watch for ages now, and the old man hasn't left even stepped out of the house. He's waiting for you to come to him, remember?"

"Not Fauchelevent." Thenardier said. "Cosette. She was always a sneaky little minx, even when she was a girl."

Éponine rolled her eyes. "Ah, yes. The empty-headed blonde, Cosette, formerly a lark and now a lady, is lying in wait in an empty garden. You're getting paranoid in your old age, Papa."

Cambriol chuckled.

"Shut up." Said Thenardier viciously. "It's not your place to question how or why I do things, Éponine. Clear out, _fille_, and let my men do their work!"

"Your _men_." Éponine mocked. "Of course! It always takes eight strong, fierce men to rob a white-haired old gentleman and a teenage girl!"

Thenardier's face soured like a lemon. "You have five seconds to step away from that gate, girl, or that kick I gave you today will seem pleasant in comparison to the bruising you're asking for."

"Do you intend to rob this house?"

"Of course." Brujon sneered.

"Then I will not move."

"Why?" Thenardier demanded.

Éponine smiled cunningly at her father. "It's not your place to question how or why I do things, Papa."

The next few seconds passed almost impossibly quickly. Montparnasse stepped forward, drawing out his pistol. But instead of firing it, he handled it by the nose, and he struck Éponine on the forehead with the butt. She crumbled to the ground, unconscious.

Thenardier looked at Montparnasse, almost surprised at the thief's actions. "That was un-chivalrous even for you, Parnasse." He commented.

"She was being un-chivalrous to me." Montparnasse said coolly. "She's been very annoying ever since she met that student boy, Monsieur Marcus or whoever he was."

"From what I've heard, the lad's more of a boxer than a student." Chapard laughed. "You should know that, shouldn't you, Montparnasse?"

Montparnasse grabbed at his knife. "You dirty-"

"Enough quarreling!" Thenardier snapped. "We have work that needs doing. And I'm not letting anyone stand in my way."

"Even this girl, this Cosette?" Cambriol asked quietly. "Will you knock her aside too, as Montparnasse just did to Éponine?"

Thenardier's smile was pure maliciousness, and he indicted Montparnasse's gun. "If trouble starts, she'll be the first to end up with a bullet in her."


	21. Three Lives are Saved

**Chapter 21: Three Lives are Saved...**

"Fauchelevent!" A voice shouted.

Startled, Jean Valjean went to his window and opened the shutters. Out in the street was the dramatic artist from the Gorbeau tenement, Fabantou. He had seven other men with him, none of whom looked particularly well-meaning.

Nevertheless, he resolved to keep his voice calm. "Ah, Monsieur Fabantou." He said. "I have been expecting you. You should know, I have your seventy-five francs ready."

The man laughed. "I haven't waited ten years for that paltry sum, monsieur. I'm taking what's due to me."

Valjean narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I mean-look!" With that, Fabantou cast aside his wide-brimmed hat, revealing a scraggly mess of red and gray hair, a sallow face and greedy eyes. "My name is not Fabantou. It is not Jondrette either. I am Thenardier, and you know my face as well as I know yours. You're the bastard who borrowed Colette!"

Valjean swallowed, his mouth suddenly very dry. It was, indeed, Thenardier; the wicked innkeeper entrusted by Fantine to take care of Cosette. He was the greediest man Valjean had ever known, and he suspected that even the fifteen hundred francs he'd payed to take Cosette away hadn't stopped the man's quest for fortune.

"You still don't know her name." Valjean called down, keeping his voice steady. "What do you want, Thenardier?"

The former innkeeper smiled cruelly. "Why, the same thing that a certain Fabantou wanted when he came; the mask has simply changed."

"You said you wanted more than seventy-five francs." Valjean replied.

"Oh, I do. And if you don't deliver, I will personally blow your precious daughter's brains out."

"If you're going to play this game, then you need to learn to bluff better." Said Valjean icily. "Cosette is inside. I just saw her in her room not ten minutes ago."

"Then allow me to enlighten you." Thenardier raised his pistol, and fired a single shot into the garden. It ricocheted off the stone wall, but it elicited a frightened yelp from somewhere behind the trees.

Valjean's heart skipped a beat. Cosette was in the garden after all. And she was in mortal danger.

"My friends and I want two hundred thousand francs." Thenardier said. "I think that compensates for nine years of illegally owning my ward. Go into whatever place in your house you've holed the money up in, and you have my word of honor that we'll leave once we have it. Not a hair harmed on your little lark's head."

Valjean nodded. Whatever Thenardier had become since Valjean had last seen him, he had remained what he originally was; a businessman. And if Valjean played along those lines, then everybody could walk away happy.

But he was Jean Valjean. And he had never liked by playing by other people's rules.

"I keep a considerable sum in a box in the cupboard." He falsely admitted. "Give me three minutes to grab it and deliver it. After that, our business is at an end.

Thenardier nodded. "Good."

Valjean walked down the hallway, entered the kitchen, and opened the cupboard. Something was indeed inside it, but it was not a money jar. It was a fully loaded carbine rifle.

Was this a rash action? It was. Would Valjean die in the attempt to ward off the robbers? Almost certainly. Would Cosette stay safe? Yes. And for Jean Valjean, nothing on earth was more critical to him than Cosette's safety.

He knew that Thenardier would not keep his word to not harm Cosette. Any man who is such a prowler is a liar as well. If Valjean bent to Thenardier's will, he would take the money, but he would also remove his gambling piece out of play as well-Cosette. Money for his greed, and vengeance for his pride. Thenardier, like all crooked men, wanted to have more than their opponent. And Thenardier knew exactly what he could take away from Valjean.

Valjean crept carefully to the front door. He hadn't used a gun since Montreuil, but that hadn't decreased his accuracy by any means. He would fire a shot by Thenardier-he wouldn't be wounded, but hopefully it would be enough to scare him and his companions off-and he would fire a second shot once he had reloaded. If the thieves were still there by then, and if they had drawn their weapons as well, then the Rue Plumet would very likely experience its first gun-battle.

Valjean breathed deeply. He made ready to swing the door open. He hoped that Cosette would stay out of the fray, for her sake.

He was just about to come out, rifle in hand-

When a blood-curdling shriek sounded from somewhere nearby.

Valjean was so surprised, he almost dropped his gun. From the garden, Cosette gasped, and Thenardier's gang cowered in terror, as though it were the cry of a banshee. In the distance, Valjean heard footsteps approaching; hopefully those of a passerby and not a policeman.

"That accursed slut!" Thenardier swore. "By God: she will rue this night! Cambriol, you go and take care of her; _for good_, this time. The rest of you with me. We're getting the hell off this street." There was a pause, and Valjean could imagine the thief glaring at him through the walls. "This isn't over, Fauchelevent!" He called. And with that, he and seven other gangsters fled Rue Plumet, the eighth running off in the other direction.

Valjean slumped against the wall, his pulse slowing down. Somebody-not Cosette-had cried out and scared away the robbers. But who?

* * *

Éponine coughed softly in her fist, her voice soar after issuing that scream.

She awoken only a minute or so after Montparnasse had knocked her out. Her head was still throbbing, but she couldn't worry about herself right now. Cosette and Monsieur Fauchelevent were in danger, and she was the only one who could save them. Quite ironic, if you thought about it.

She stood up, using the wall to balance herself. She didn't know where Marius was, she didn't know if Cosette or her father were safe, or even if the robbers had been scared away by her cry. So the only way to know was to find out herself.

Before Éponine could start exploring, a voice said "Do you have any idea what you've just done?"

She turned, fearful. Standing behind her was Cambriol, his hand at his side.

Éponine smiled, relived. "Oh good, it's you, Alexandre. I was afraid it might be my father, or Chapard, maybe. I'm sorry that I screamed, but I couldn't let you rob this house. Mademoiselle Fauchelevent is a...friend of mine." She said, almost surprised at naming Cosette as her friend. Then she caught something glinting by Cambriol's waist. "What are you holding?" She asked him.

In one fluid motion, the thief drew out a saber, three feet long and sharp as a knife.

Éponine jumped back.

"This is a saber I took from a dead soldier at the Place Vendôme, during the revolution of 1830." Cambriol explained. "Since I have possessed it, it has only killed twice; the first was on the last of the Three Glorious Days in the Tuileries, when a wounded rioter begged me to end his life. The second was when Marceau grabbed it out of my hands and murdered a drunk with whom he had quarreled. I find that once again, its victim is killed under unique circumstances."

Éponine's blood froze. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I must now use it to kill a friend." Said Cambriol sadly.

"Alexandre, you wouldn't-"

Without warning, Cambriol whacked Éponine's arm with the flat of the sword. She fell back down to the ground, shocked and bleeding, as Cambriol advanced on her, saber in hand.

"Alexandre, are you out of your mind?" She cried tearfully.

"I'm sorry, Éponine, but I have to do this. This isn't a hidden act of mercy in the dark. I swore to obey your father on this job, and my word is one of the few things I have left to value. He has ordered me to kill you, and I must do what he wants. I am truly sorry." Cambriol raised his sword high above his head, ready to strike.

"You swore to help any fallen women!" Éponine screamed at him. "At her grave site, you swore! You swore to help..._Les Misérables_!"'

Cambriol froze, momentarily surprised. "Who is _Les Misérables_?"

"That doesn't matter now, just listen to me. When Fantine died, you made a promise to shield the virtue of all the women you encountered who were in her situation. You said yourself that the oath includes me. But that vow isn't the only reason you won't kill me."

"Oh, is it?" Cambriol said sarcastically. "Pray tell me."

"I will." Said Éponine, who was slowly becoming more angry than scared now. "You're not going to kill me, Alexandre, because you're afraid. You were afraid to start your life without Fantine, you were afraid to stand up to her lover, and you're too afraid now to stand up to your cousin. And you know what? I bet that vow you made to Fantine's grave is as false as you are; I bet you only helped me that night because you _knew_ you could get away with it. But if that saber comes down on my head, then your illusion will be lost to the world...and her, in whatever afterlife your sister is in. Everyone will see you for what you are; a thief, a liar, and a murderer."

Cambriol's face went very white. Breathing hard, he sank to his knees, his saber clattering to the street. "You're right, Éponine." He said. He buried his face in his hands, his voice breaking. "You're right." And the big man began to cry softly._  
_

Éponine didn't know whether to feel surprised, grateful, or sympathetic. Maybe all three. Cautiously, she inched closer to him, and tried to wrap her arms around him.

He pushed her away, wiping his eyes and smiling. "You comfort me now, just as I did that night in the Gorbeau tenement. How fitting that our places are now reversed; you may not look it, but you are the stronger of the two of us." Cambriol rose, and he sheathed his saber. "Just this once, Éponine." He warned. "For her. For Fantine." Then he lifted her up and grasped her hand tightly. "In case we do not meet again, I am glad to have met you, Éponine Thenardier. I thank you, with all my heart, for being my rose in the underworld." He kissed her politley on the cheek, as he had done in the tenement, tipped his hat, and left her there at the gates of Number 55. As he left, he started to sing:

_Ils disent qu'il ya un chemin bientôt d'où je me tiendrai pour juger,_  
_Mais le Diable vous attend avec Christ semblable à un fils._  
_Lorsque le regard vient à votre façon, meilleures dire était que je._  
_Pour les raisons vous détenez donner des raisons de mourir._  
_L'impatience de l'appelant, mais les appels n'a jamais gagné._  
_Mais le dernier à dire, il peut durer à travers le déluge._

_Eh bien, j'ai vu la bataille, et j'ai vu la guerre,_  
_Et la vie pose ici est la vie que j'ai été vendu._  
_Eh bien, j'ai vu la bataille et j'ai vu la guerre,_  
_Et la vie que j'ai ici, c'est la vie qu'on m'a dit._

* * *

**The song is part of "Devil's Waitin'", by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club. The English translation is: **

**They say there's a path soon where I'll stand to judge,**  
**But the Devil is waiting with Christ like a son.**  
**When the look comes your way, best say was I.**  
**For the reasons you hold give reasons to die.**  
**The calling's impatient, but the calls never won.**  
**But the last one to say it may last through the flood.**

**Well I've seen the battle, and I've seen the war,**  
**And the life laying here is the life I've been sold.**  
**Well I've seen the battle, and I've seen the war,**  
**And the life I have here is the life i've been told.**


	22. But One is Taken

**Chapter 22:...But One is Taken**

Not too long after Cambriol had left, a voice behind Éponine said, "Sentimental fool."

She jumped. Montparnasse was standing behind her, grinning sadistically and holding the pistol he had used to knock her out only a few minutes ago.

"What are you doing here, Parnasse?" She hissed. "I thought Papa took all of his gang-members away."

Montparnasse chuckled. "Not quite. He gave Cambriol the order to kill you, and told the rest of us to follow. But I gave them the slip, you see. I had a feeling that Cambriol wouldn't kill you-doesn't want to harm his precious pet-and here's the proof that I'm right. You may have foiled our plot with Fauchelevent, Éponine, but that doesn't mean that there's no profit left to be made. Tonight, I will kill you, expose Cambriol as a renegade, and gut that sly bastard properly. Thenardier will reward me, and so will Chapard. I'll be a member of both Patron-Minette and The Smiling Brothers, isn't that exciting?" The assassin fingered his gun. "Now, I do have to ask you one thing; do you want to do this the easy way, or the hard way?"

In a flash, Éponine flung her foot upwards, kicking the pistol out of Montparnasse's hand. She heard a faint cracking sound, and the pistol clattered a foot or so across the street. Montparnasse bent over, clutching his fingers.

The criminal seethed in pain. "I see. Hard way it is." And he lunged at her, getting her head into a vice and wrapping his arm around her throat.

Éponine clawed at his arm, trying to desperately to loosen his grip, but it was no good. Montparnasse was much stronger than he had previously let on, and she could already feel her breath starting to shorten. She kept on squirming, but his grip kept tightening, until it came to where her vision began to darken-

And there was the sound of a gun cocking.

"Let her go, Montparnasse." It was Marius's voice.

Montparnasse relaxed his hold and her, and Éponine gasped hard for air. The assassin turned around, keeping her in her arms, and they both saw Marius, holding Montparnasse's pistol and looking deadly serious.

Montparnasse sneered. "You."

"Me." Said Marius simply. "I would have thought you'd learned to stay away from Éponine while I'm around. Your nose stands as proof of that."

The thief smiled wickedly. "And I would have thought you'd learned this; that I don't care about your raggedy friend here. Just because she's your mistress now and not mine doesn't mean I still have to play nice with her."

Marius gestured at his hands, which were still around Éponine's throat. "Obviously."

"I've got to ask you, student boy; are you really going to shoot me? If I wring your pretty Éponine's neck, will you really pay me back with a bullet? I doubt they teach you much about shooting in the Latin Quarter."

"If you harm Éponine in any way, then I will certainly do everything in my power to avenge her." Marius said firmly.

Montparnasse snorted. "You can't solve all your problems with me with a fist-fight, boyo. But how about a compromise? You students like to debate, don't you? You give me my gun back, the lovely lady goes free, and we can all go our separate ways. You have my word on that."

Marius hesitated. He looked at Montparnasse, reveling in his mastery of the game; then at Éponine, and she prayed over and over that he would have the sense to decline. But then he gazed down at the pistol in his hand and, biting his lip, held it out to Montparnasse.

"There, you have it. Now let her go-"

Quick as a snake, Montparnasse grabbed the gun out of Marius's hand and pushed him back with a shove. He readjusted his grip on Éponine as well, making it even harder for her to breath than before. She began to see spots, and fought furiously against his lock on her neck.

Marius looked stunned. "You gave me your word!"

Montparnasse laughed. "Aye, I did. And that's worth about as much as a false golden louis. Don't you know that you shouldn't trust a snake once it slithers out of its hole? The same goes with a man out of Pantin. Now, on your knees."

Marius did as he was told, not looking at Montparnasse or Éponine.

"Come closer." Said Montparnasse oily. "I don't bite. You know, Pontmercy, if you had stayed out of my little adventure with 'Ponine today, I wouldn't even be considering giving you a third eye. But you didn't, did you? That's the problem with you bourgeois students; you all think you have to be heroes. And it's only when you're lying in the dust do you discover that you're wrong." Then he grinned down at Éponine. "Isn't this nice, 'Ponine? First, you didn't have the sense to let me and Patron-Minette kill this boy, and then to let Cambriol die. Now, they'll both be killed by me. But rest assured that they weren't murdered in cold blood. They were justly executed by a concerned member of your family."

Éponine looked up at him, her fury suddenly spilling over like a tidal wave. "You are _not_ my family." She said vehemently. And with that, she moved her hands from her throat and smacked them into Montparnasse's right hand, the one she had just broken.

Montparnasse yelped, dropping the gun, which Marius immediately went for. In his sudden pain, Montparnasse's hold on Éponine finally loosened enough for her to wriggle out of his grasp. She spun away from him, and she boxed him on the ear.

"That was for using me!" She screamed. Then she hit him again, in the arm this time. "That was for lying to me!" Éponine stood closely beside him, and lowered his bloody face to hers. "And this is for threatening my friends." She punched his nose, which sent him staggering backwards.

Éponine was feeling rather proud of herself in that moment. But her pleasure melted as she saw Montparnasse draw a knife-none other than his _lingre_- and he charged at her, tackling her to the ground.

Éponine struggled, but it was no good. Montparnasse held her down, one hand to her throat, the other holding the knife very, very close to her face.

The assassin's eyes gleamed with evil. "Éponine Thenardier, the gamine who died defending her lover, the student." He scoffed. "Better than an opera." And he raised the _lingre _above her head, ready to strike.

There was a sudden flash, and a crack, and Montparnasse went rigid, the tip of his knife not four inches from plunging into Éponine's eye. Éponine looked at Marius, with the smoking gun in his hand, then back to Montparnasse. More specifically, at the red stain that was rapidly spreading across his chest.

The thief sank to his knees on the ground, dazed. His eyes bored into Marius, and he spat a mouthful of blood at his face. "Remember this night, Marius Pontmercy, when your life's thread is about to be cut as well. Know that my spirit will be praying that your end is even more brutal than mine." Then, his eyes rolled back in his head, and he was no more.


	23. A Flight into Justice

**Chapter 23: A Flight into Justice**

Marius walked over to her, amazed at the sight of Montparnasse's body before them. "That was...very violent." He managed to say.

She huffed. "Not violent enough to compensate two years of abuse." She looked at him. "How did you know to come back?"

"I heard the sound of a gun, and then your scream." Marius explained. "I didn't know who'd fired the shot, so I ran back to Rue Plumet as quickly as I could. Some man in a dark coat was heading the same way; I'm not sure where he went off to."

Éponine shrugged."Well, it's probably better that he stayed away. The gunshot, by the way, was my father. He was trying to scare Cosette into coming out the garden. Don't worry, she's alright." She said quickly when she saw the look of distress on his face. "My cry scared Papa and Patron-Minette away. Well, except for Montparnasse, but only him." She amended. For some reason, she couldn't bring herself to talk about her meeting with Cambriol.

Marius nodded. "That's a relief. You know, we really should-"

He was interrupted by the sounds of another gunshot of the house, and a loud cry of "Police! Drop your weapons!"

Éponine's eyes widened. "We have to go. Now."

"What?" Marius asked, flabbergasted.

"I said, we have to leave. Get back to Gorbeau House as quickly as we can and pretend none of this ever happened."

Marius looked almost affronted. "I certainly can't do that! What about Cosette, and Monsieur Fauchelevent? Should we at least check on them before we flee like their assailants?"

"They're the ones whose house was just robbed. They're above suspicion. We, on the other hands, are of uncertain innocence, and one of us is holding a gun. And have I mentioned the body?" She waved her hand frantically at Montparnasse's corpse. "If we don't leave now, you could be in La Force, and me in Les Madelonettes. I'll bet that the ABC Society won't be too ecstatic about that, or Cosette."

Now she knew that she had struck a nerve. Marius looked hesitantly at the walls of Number 55, as though imagining his Cosette within. Then he turned back to Éponine, and he nodded. "Alright. Let's go."

She sighed, relieved. "At least you're not so in love to be blind to common sense, Monsieur Marius."

"Would a man with any common sense have handed a gun back to an infamous assassin?" He asked her wryly.

She laughed. "I suppose not. But you're not _completely_ hopeless, in any case."

"Do you think Cosette would agree with you?" Marius asked.

Éponine considered. She'd noticed all too well the loving looks that the girl had given Marius at the gates of the garden, because they were the same ones she had thrown at him when she and her father had come to the Gorbeau tenement. The fact was plain; Marius was in love with Cosette, and she equally with him. And no matter how much contempt Éponine had for it, that was the way it was.

Without a moment's hesitation, she said "I know she would."

And the two of them hurried down the Rue Plumet, back to the Gorbeau tenement.

* * *

Alexandre Cambriol, the brains of the ill-spoken _Les Frères Souriant_, was many things. He was smart, witty, entrepreneurial as well as light-fingered, neutral and cool in almost all affairs that did not concern himself, and, as Éponine would not doubt pledge, a man of mercy. But at this moment, in the back alley of Number 55, Rue Plumet, he realized bitterly that he was one thing more.

An utter fool.

He did not regret his choices concerning Éponine in the slightest degree. After failing Fantine so terribly all those years ago, it had only felt right to let the girl go. He had told her himself that almost all he had left to value was his word, and he'd be damned if he felt more obligated to that rat Thenardier than to his own sister. _  
_

But Éponine was not the reason he was cursing himself for a fool. No, it was because he'd followed Thenardier, Marceau, and Patron-Minette right into a bloody _trap_.

After leaving Éponine at the garden gates, Cambriol had rushed back to join the would-be robbers. Thenardier has asked him, "Is it done?". He could only nod. Thenardier seemed satisfied, and he ordered them to head back to one of Patron-Minette's headquarters in the Faubourg St. Antoine.

They were about to do just that, when Babet called out, "Where is Montparnasse?"

They all looked around, but none of them could find the dandy. He had certainly been with them when they'd taken off from the house, but he no longer stood beside them now.

"I bet he's gone back to the garden." Brujon groaned.

Marceau eyed him. "Why do you say that?"

"Mon Dieu, Chapard. You've met Montparnasse. If he spies a pretty maiden in a yard, do you think he's going to miss that chance?"

Thenardier cursed. "You're right, Brujon. We have to go back and stop him!"

"Help me understand you, Thenardier. You had no qualms about murdering her in cold blood, but you want to help her from being raped by _Montparnasse_?" Cambriol asked incredulously.

Thenardier snarled. "She could go and sleep with a pig, for all I care. But Montparnasse is a boy who likes to play with his food before he eats it. If we wait now, Mademoiselle Cosette will have a red line across her neck before sunrise, and I want her alive, and the old man too, for when I finally take my revenge."

"You had a chance at vengeance tonight. You were stopped by your own daughter." Cambriol said scathingly.

Thenardier grit his teeth. "Perhaps, but she won't be able to do it a second time, will she? You've seen to that. Now, follow me! We're going after that dandy."

Blind fools, the lot of them. As soon as had they reached the gates of Number 55, they saw the body lying on the street side.

Cambriol's expression must have been as surprised as theirs. Gueulemer began to say "How did...", when a tall man in a dark coat entered the street, and fired one pistol-shot into the air.

"Police! Drop your weapons!" He shouted.

Panic descended on the robbers. They drew their daggers, but as soon as they did so three Parisian policemen stepped out from behind the man, and raised their rifles.

"It looks as though you've brought knives to a gun fight." Said the man smugly. "Drop them now, please, and put your hands up."

They may be wicked, but none of them were stupid. Looking hatefully at the man, they relinquished their knives, their clubs; everything.

The tall man inspected his captured criminals. "This is quite an alliance we have here: Patron-Minette working with _Les Frères Souriant _on the same job. And for every circus, there is, of course, a ring-master." He gave a small nod to Thenardier. "Monsieur Thenardier, I am delighted to make your acquaintance. I can truthfully say I would enjoy it best in no other circumstances than this."

Thenardier spat at the man's feet.

"I will remember that." The man warned. "Now, start moving. We have a long walk to La Force."

"May we at least know who's leading us to our doom?" Marceau whined.

The man's lips contorted into some expression that must have been a smile. "My name is Inspector Javert, Paris Prefecture of Police. And you are all under arrest."


	24. Fallen from God, Fallen from Grace

**February**** 17, 1832**

**Chapter 24: Fallen from God, Fallen from Grace**

Later that evening-it must have been past midnight-Javert sat at a desk in the inspector's office in La Force, reviewing the case that he was about to give to the Prefect. He'd been feeling very proud of himself in taking an interest in that gun-shot had sounded in Rue Plumet last night, and the scream that had followed. It had led him to some of the most dangerous criminals in Paris, and yet...

Few arrests had been so satisfying, and yet so mysterious. A triple alliance had been formed by Thenardier, Patron-Minette and The Smiling Brothers, all to rob the insignificant house of an old gentleman on the Rue Plumet. Criminals of their caliber did not strike out randomly. There must have been a motive to bring all these fiends together for one job, and Javert intended to discover what that was.

His brooding was interrupting by the arrival of Captain Beauvais, his fellow officer. Javert had great admiration for the man. Beauvais had been raised in Paris as a gamin, and when he'd come to maturity in his late teens, he had decided to turn his back on his origins and join the police force; a story Javert could relate to. His rugged past had formed him not only into a strict disciplinarian, but it also gave him a remarkable eye for detail in a crime. He jokingly referred to himself as "the next Vidocq", after the legendary convict-turned-inspector who'd help found modern detective work in France.

Beauvais was a rather small man, about six foot two, with short brown hair and sharp blue eyes. He was only twenty-five years old, and he'd risen to the rank of captain in his first four years on the force. Smart, obedient, quick-witted, forceful...yes, there was much that Javert admired about young Francois Beauvais.

"Inspector?" He asked.

"Yes?" Javert replied, not taking his eyes off his papers.

"I have just returned from the cells, with some very intriguing news."

Javert looked up at him. "Really? What is it?"

Beauvais sat down in the spare chair across from the desk, looking amiably at Javert. "When you arrested your six prize hens last night, you no doubt noticed that one was missing from the collection."

Javert nodded. "Montparnasse, the fourth member of Patron-Minette. He was not with the others. At the time, I was content with his absence, but now I need him to show the Prefect."

Beauvais made a _tsk-tsk_ sound. "Neither you nor any other man will be bringing Montparnasse to anyone but the undertaker, Inspector. He's dead."

Javert blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected that. "Dead? As in...killed?"

Beauvais nodded.

"Well, who killed him?" Javert demanded. "Not that I'm ungrateful, but still; this murderer must answer for his crime. Unless it was one of the robbers?"

The police offer shook his head. "I questioned them all before coming to you, and they swore to high heaven that they didn't. One of them, Brujon, lamented that it was because they also noticed Montparnasse missing that we'd caught them at all." He smirked. "Brujon is brutish, but he is a simpleton at heart. I do not think he lied."

"I do not understand you." Said Javert. "Were the robbers not present when Montparnasse died?"

"That is my belief. Tell me, Inspector; what do you know of Thenardier's history?"

"Not much." Javert admitted. "I have been on his trail since 1825, when he began grave-robbing. But I have been able to collect very little information about his past."

"Then allow me to enlighten you. I've had a little chat with Thenardier just now, and he has quite the mouth on him after a few swigs of brandy. According to him, his "brilliant scheme" was blasphemously interrupted by none other than his own daughter. She screamed for the police, and he had no choice but to flee."

Javert raised his eyebrows. "I didn't know Thenardier had a daughter. A legitimate one, you mean?"

"Aye, and another as well. He keeps his family in some run-down tenement here in the city-he was not so drunk to say its name or location-and they seem to be limited to his wife and his two daughters. The elder I have spoken of often assists him in his crimes, and some less attractive businesses which I shan't mention."

"But if she is his helper and has been for some time, then why would she interfere with him now?"

"Thenardier was a bit vague on that fact, I'm afraid." Beauvais said apologetically. "He kept raving about "the Lark", and "the student boy", but he would not say any names. Pray forgive me, I'm getting off topic. My point is, Inspector; when the robbers fled, they noticed that one of their own was missing; Montparnasse. They elected to return to the house to find him, and found nothing but his corpse, fast growing cold. It was because of this return that you ambushed them successfully."

"But what caused Montparnasse to stray from his gang?" Javert demanded. "Where is his murderer, and Thenardier's daughter as well?"

Beauvais spread his hands. "Inspector, you're asking questions I can't answer. What I do know is-"

A loud yell sounded from down the hall. A sergeant burst into the room, panting. "Monsieurs!" He panted. "The prisoners; Thenardier, Cambriol, Claquesous...all of them! Come quickly!"

Startled, Javert and Beauvais followed the panicked young officer down to the cell block that had housed the six criminals since the previous evening. Javert had been only this afternoon, and he bitterly noticed several differences. The blood on the wall, for one thing, as well as the two bodies on the floor. The great vacancy was also proved by the great gap in the bars where the lock should have been, and the unconscious guard slumped against the wall. Only one of the captives remained, Cambriol, who stood leaning with his arms crossed against the cell bars.

Fuming, Javert shook the man who had brought them there. "What has happened?" He demanded.

"I d-don't know, monsieur!" The sergeant stammered. "I came too late to know whatever caused the ruckus."

"What ruckus?" Asked Beauvais.

"I heard some shouting and threats, so I got here as quickly as I could, but it was too late. I only saw the tall one, Claquesous, wiping blood off this horrible knife of his-he must have hidden it when he came here-and the big one, Gueulemer, raising hell like a demon and twisting the lock into knots." He shuddered. "I was so dumbstruck, they just knocked me aside and went on their way, once these two were dealt with." He pointed at the pair of bodies.

Javert sighed in frustration. "There's seems to be a quantity of murder among thieves these days. Beauvais, bring this wretches to the surgeon's room, and see if he can save them. I won't let them face a knife and not the gallows without a fight. And should they die, spread the word to our brethren across Paris. Because of Montparnasse, they'll want to know of the fall of Patron-Minette." He pointed to one of the bodies. "And of Le Chacal as well, I think."


	25. Only the Devil has Eternal Cunning

**February 25, 1832 **

**Chapter 25: Only the Devil has Eternal Cunning**

Éponine decided that today she would visit her brothers in Gavroche's elephant.

It had been a rocky time in the Gorbeau tenement for the Thenardiers that week. Without Papa's iron fist to keep them in line, Maman had been screeching at Éponine for hours about how she'd betrayed her own father and was no better than Judas, and Azelma, in a rare show of courage, did her best defending her older sister from their mother's wrath, but to no avail. Now, one week after the disastrous events at Rue Plumet, Maman still refused to speak with Éponine at all, and 'Zelma could only give her sympathetic glances.

That was why she decided to go see Gavroche and the momes. Although 'Vroche had never really loved or been loved by Thenardier, he was still his son, and deserved to know that his father was now imprisoned, with a very small chance of getting out.

She walked to the Place la Bastille and up through the elephant's legs. The last time she'd done this, she'd been suffering badly from the latest blows Papa had given her. It gave her an extra dose of stamina to think how unlikely it was that he'd ever hit her again.

Finally, she found Gavroche's space and found him hosting Navet as well. All four gamins were laughing and drinking out of small wooden cups as Gavroche led them in a song of the typical gamin style:

_Those old Bourbons think they're something,_  
_But it's me who runs this show!_  
_I'm the king of Versailles Palace, and Pantin down below._  
_Trust Gavroche! Have no fear!_  
_Don't you worry, Papa dear!_  
_You can still find old 'Vroche here!_  
_I'm singing here with me brothers,_  
_Nathan, Samuel and Navet._  
_I trust me-self with no others,_  
_Now here us sing and say:_  
_"Trust Gavroche! Have no fear!_  
_Don't you worry, Papa dear!_  
_You can still find old 'Vroche here!"_

Éponine smiled. "What are you lot singing about now?"

Gavroche turned to her, and broke into a smile. "'Ponine! How perfect! Now we have one more to celebrate with!"

"Here, here!" Said Navet. "It is for only the most special occasions that you drink good, clean water out of cups like this!" He showed her his roughly-hewed cup.

"What's the occasion?" Éponine asked.

Gavroche raised his cup in a toast. "The downfall of Le Chacal, and _Les Frères Souriant _as well!" He crowed.

It took Éponine a moment to realize who her brother was referring to. "You mean... Papa?" She asked, concerned. "What's wrong with him? And what do Chapard and Cambriol have to do with it?"_  
_

"You know about Papa's attempt to rob that house on Rue Plumet, where he was arrested?" Asked Gavroche.

Éponine snorted. "Of course."

"Do you also know how he planned on dividing up the profits?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "The fool planned on stealing 200,000 francs from Fauchelevent. He promised his gang an equal share-25,000 francs for each man-when he really schemed to hand out only 500."

"Fool indeed." Gavroche said in agreement. "Well, last week, the night after they were arrested, Patron-Minette-or should I say, the rest of Patron-Minette, since Montparnasse is dead-they found out exactly how much they would have been given. The cops had made Papa drunk to make him spill the beans, and once they left he just kept on yammering." The gamin chuckled. "I always thought our father capable of talking his way out of the grave; I just never though he could talk himself into one!"

Navet guffawed as the truth sunk into Éponine. "You mean...Papa is dead?" She asked incredulously.

Gavroche nodded. "Claquesous had a knife on him. One that the cops didn't find. He pulled it out, and gave Le Chacal the red smile he's been asking for for five years."

Éponine stared at her brother in wide-eyed disbelief. "And what proof do you have of this?"

"Proof from friends in high places, dear sister. There's this one copper, Beauvais, that's an old mate of mine; he comes round here sometimes on his inspections and whatnot. Anyway, Beauvais saw it himself. By God, he helped carry Thenardier and the other to the dead room!"

"What other?"

"'Vroche!" Scolded Navet. "You haven't finished the story yet! Another criminal died that night, didn't he?"

"Right you are, Navet!" Gavroche said. "You see, 'Ponine, once Papa was lying in the floor of the prison, choking on his own blood, La Force was one big mad-house. Babet and Gueulemer were yelling at Claquesous, Claquesous and Chapard were arguing with Cambriol, and Brujon looked as though he'd been hit on the head with a saucepan." He smirked. "Course, he usually looks like that. Anyway, Claquesous found another score to settle, only this time with Cambriol." Gavroche imitated plunging a knife into his chest. "So Cambriol went stiff too, right along-side Papa in the dead room."

Éponine suddenly found it very hard to breath. "Alexandre is dead as well?" She said, her voice very low.

"Deader than a Christmas goose." Gavroche affirmed. "You can guess what happened when _he_ died. Two prisoners dead, several others rioting; I can still see Beauvais' face now, he wasn't at all stoked. Gueulemer ripped the lock off the cell-block, and the remaining five took off into the night, slipping right through the law's fingers." Then he looked curiously at Éponine. "Are you alright, 'Ponine? You look awfully pale."

Éponine balanced herself against a beam of rotting wood, trying to keep her head clear. "I'm fine, 'Vroche. Umm...did Cambriol say anything before he died?"

Her brother thought about it. "Beauvais did mention his last words...from what he told me, Cambriol was lying on a cot in the dead room, and right before he breathed his last, he said something like, "_I am ready, Fantine_"."

"And then he died?" She asked breathlessly.

He nodded. "And then he died."

Éponine sat down on the bed beside Gavroche, trying to make sense of what he was saying. Alexandre was dead. And he died because Patron-Minette found out that he'd spared her. Even if they'd let him live for that, they must have known, or least guessed, that she was responsible for Montparnasse's murder, which wasn't exactly a lie. In their minds, their comrade was dead because Éponine was alive, and she was only alive because of Cambriol.

It was very odd to learn this when she was told of her father's death as well, and yet _this_ was the one that affected her more. Not her own father, but the man she hadn't even known for an entire month of her life. And yet in that time, he'd become one of her greatest friends. Her best friend, even, if she didn't include Marius. Éponine remembered when she'd first met him, when he'd entered the Jondrette garret with his cake and wine. He'd sung that song about himself and Fantine, she reminisced. Then suddenly, she found herself singing:

_"Il y a un homme brisé frêle qui n'a trimé sa vie loin_  
_Avec un cœur usée dont les jours sur la terre sont plus._  
_Bien que sa voix serait joyeux, il soupira pour tous ses jours_  
_Et il savait que les temps difficiles ne revenez plus jamais._  
_Il a chanté la chanson, le soupir de la fatigue,_  
_Oh, temps difficiles reviendront pas plus."_*

Gavroche looked at her. "I've never heard that song before. Who'd you hear it from, 'Ponine?"

She sighed. "From an old friend that I'm afraid I won't be seeing anymore."

* * *

***There's a frail broken man who has toiled his life away**  
**With a worn heart whose days on earth are over.**  
**Though his voice would be merry, he sighed for all his days**  
**And he knew that hard times come again no more.**  
**He sang the song, the sigh of the weary,**  
**Oh, hard times come again no more.**


	26. King of Paris

**Three months later:**

**May 26, 1832**

**Chapter 26: King of Paris**

**A/N: Prepare for No God Above's first (and probably last) musical number! :) Don't ask why I wrote this part. Just go with it and imagine them all singing. This is Les Mis, after all. They sing stuff. All credit goes to "Newsies" for inspiration for the song. **

* * *

**"**Slow down, Marius!" Éponine said as the two of them rushed into the doors of the Cafe Musain. "What makes this meeting so different from the others?"

Since that eventful evening in the Rue Plumet, Marius had only grown more and more cheerful. He met with Cosette in secret almost every night, and when he wasn't with her, then he was at the Musain, which was slowly becoming the ABC Society's headquarters for all things about the revolution. Éponine, at Enjolras's insistence, had continued to meet there with the students, offering any opinions she had and giving the best advice about how to rally the average Parisian to fight. Because of her help, Enjolras had told her their "catalyst" the same night he had told the Amis: the renowned general, Lamarque, had fallen ill with cholera. If he died, his death would cause an uproar among the wretched citizens of the city, for Lamarque was well-known for his advocating of peoples' rights. If they could control that torrent of emotions, the revolution could be won in a day.

The student grinned at her. "I spoke with Courfeyrac yesterday, and he told me that we would be having some very special guests at the Musain tonight."

"What guests?" She asked, not caring to guess.

He laughed, and opened the door to the students' back room. "Look and see."

Éponine looked, and she gasped in delight. Sitting on the table, their feet swinging, was a quartet of gamins, grinning like fools as Jehan Prouvaire played the large piano that sat in the corner. "Gavroche! Navet! Samuel! Nathan!" She ran over to them and enveloped them in a great big hug, even Navet. "Oh, I haven't seen you in weeks! What are you doing here?"

Gavroche smiled. "The momes and I met a right decent fellow who comes here, and he said that we could visit tonight; even bring Navet with us, if he was interested."

"Really? Who said that?"

Courfeyrac sauntered up to them and smiled. "That would be I, mademoiselle. I hope you don't mind too terribly."

She laughed. "Why should I? My irresponsible brothers may learn something of importance here tonight."

"We know important things!" Nathan protested. ""Vroche takes us to the alleys and ponds all the time, and we find out things about Paris that we never knew before."

Éponine mussed up the little gamin's hair. "Yes, but your new friend Courfeyrac and his friends talk about things outside of Paris. Big things, famous things. Right, Enjolras?"

The blonde revolutionary nodded. "Yes, I suppose it's famous things." Then he smiled. "And when we break the chain of tyranny, then I suppose we ourselves will become famous things as well."

"Aye!" Shouted Grantaire giddily. "The group of rag-tag students who overthrew a European monarchy! True history and celebrity in the making!"

Enjolras simply sighed. "Whatever you say, Grantaire. I wonder if when we're famous, we still need the money to pay off our debts in financing this costly revolution."

Navet laughed. "You don't need money when you're famous, Enjolras. And that's what's so great about Paris! When you're famous, they give you whatever you want!"

Enjolras scoffed. "Such as...?"

"Such as..." Navet began. Then he sighed, and looked towards Prouvaire. "Jehan, can you stop playing that song? I've heard cheerier funeral marches."

Prouvaire looked chagrined. "Well, what do you want me to play?"

"Something more... uplifting! I think better with good music."

The poet nodded, and switched from playing his somber tune to a much jazzier one.

"Now that's more like it!" Navet said, delighted. "Anyway, as I was saying, you get anything you want in this city when you're famous. Like a new pair of shoes, with matching laces." He pointed at his own shoes, which were clumsily made, with almost all the string laces gone.

Bossuet, who was playing cards in the corner with Joly, called out, "A hand of cards that holds all the aces!" And he showed his losing hand.

Joly inspected his cup. "A fancy drink filled with gin, not water." He mused.

"A summer night with a marquis' daughter!" Laughed Courfeyrac.

Navet stood up on the table, staring down defiantly at Enjolras. "Look at me! I'm the king of Paris! Suddenly, I'm a big guy, staring right at you, stocked up on stature."

Feuilly got up from his seat and said, "No fun at playing a sitting-duck, so I'm wasting my francs and going deluxe!"

Navet spread his arms wide in a grand gesture. "Here I am! Ain't I pretty? This is my city; I'm the king of Paris!"

From his spot at the piano, Prouvaire showed them his pocket-watch, which was battered and made of copper. "A solid gold watch with a chain to twirl it..."

"A king-size bed and an indoor toilet!" Gavroche chimed.

"A pint of wine priced for a quarter." Grantaire said, draining his cup.

Marius rushed across the room, and held up a copy of _The Moniteur _for them to see. "Something new for all the reporters!"

"Something new, alright!" Grantaire exclaimed. "That Enjolras is the king of Paris!"

"Tip your hat, he's the king of Paris!" The Amis responded in unison.

Enjolras laughed. "How about that? Me, the king of Paris!"

"In no time flat, to the Assembly he'll whisk us, yes that's Enjolras." The students continued.

"Making history at the barricade!"Combeferre declared.

"Protecting the weak!" Enjolras said.

"With all of our aid!" Bahorel added.

Gavroche swatted Enjolras's arm. "Knock it off, Enjolras! If anyone's the king of Paris, _she_ is!" He pointed to Éponine.

She just laughed. "Who'd of thought! I'm the king of Paris!"

"So let's get drunk!" Shouted Grantaire.

"Yeah!" The Amis cheered.

"No!" Said Éponine loudly. "Well,yes; but not with liquor! Fame works quicker when you're king of Paris."

"Yes, haven't you heard? We're the kings of Paris!" Enjolras cried out.

Then together, they cried:"Look at me! I'm the king of Paris! Wait and see; this is gonna make all the Bourbons run and then forfeit. The Republic is blazing bright as the sun! I'm one reckless son of a gun! Don't ask me how Fortune found me, but Fate just crowned me, now I'm king of Paris. Look and see! Friends may flee, but let them run! We'll have fun, because we're the kings of Paris! It's a big new story of guts and glory! I'm the king of Paris!"


	27. I Never Shall Yield

**May 28, 1832**

**Chapter 27: I Never Shall Yield**

"Wake up, sir!"

Javert opened one eye...and found himself staring at the notes he'd been scribbling since February. The countless lines that had been crossed out, circled, and crossed out again looked like one large black mess of ink. Beauvais was with him in his office at the Prefecture, his look obviously one of disapproval.

"I see that you've stayed up all night. _Again_." Said Beauvais sternly. "Don't you think it's time you dropped this case, Inspector?"

Javert lifted his head from the paper, and hastily rubbed the ink off his cheek. "Out of the question, Francois. I intend to get to the bottom of this."

"You had the same amount of intent four months ago." Beauvais said dryly. "I admire your persistence, sir, but you're chasing phantoms. Quite literally in this case."

"It just doesn't add up." Said Javert, who'd hardly bothered to listen to him. "A gun-shot sounds in Rue Plumet, and about a minute later someone screams loudly. It might mean the death of Montparnasse-his was the only body we found-but since we know that it was the scream that scared off the robbers, the gun-shot was evidently fired by one of them, or they would have fled from that. Perhaps they meant it as a warning to the house's occupant that they are armed. I do not know for sure. But I am almost certain that it was Thenardier's daughter who gave the cry-he told you himself that she had "interfered"-and perhaps, fearing her father's wrath, she flees, and that is why we did not apprehend her. Montparnasse, the loyal dog of Thenardier, pursues her, and she kills him herself."

Beauvais sighed in exasperation. "Do you really suspect this girl capable of murder?"

"I suspect everything. This whole affair stinks of a deeper conspiracy, and I am certain that Mademoiselle Thenardier has a stake in it."

Beauvais went to stand beside him, and opened the full snuff-box that rested on the desk. "But not certain enough to congratulate yourself for it, or you would have taken a pinch by now." He commented. "Look, we haven't seen a single sign of Thenardier's daughter since her father's bungled robbery in February. And do you know why that is? I certainly do."

Javert looked at his colleague with a mixed expression of admiration and disgust. "Yes. You would know, wouldn't you, _Inspector _Beauvais?"

After the escape of Patron-Minette from La Force, Beauvais had taken charge of the pursuit to track them down. He tore up every known site in Paris tied to them, and had even entered the first circle of Pantin to seek them out. Finally, five weeks ago, he'd picked up their trail near the Place de la Revolution. They were spotted selling stolen wine to a gang of pimps out from Marseilles, and although Brujon, Babet, Claquesous and Gueulemer got away, Beauvais had succeeded in capturing the surviving member of _Les Frères Souriant_, Marceau Chapard. Chapard had been sentenced to twenty years of hard labor in the infamous Toulon galleys, and for his gallant work Beauvais had been made an inspector.

"You're missing my point. With her father dead and her gang in hiding, the girl has no way to cause mischief. After she ran from Rue Plumet, she likely hid herself in some hole to escape her father's rage, and hasn't come out since. And after chasing her former accomplices through this city, I have no wish to play the bloodhound once again, just to land some unfortunate gamine in Les Madelonettes."

"Very well.' Javert conceded. "But I'm not asking you to hunt down the girl."

"Then what are you asking me to do, Javert? You clearly have something on your mind."

"You're right, I do. I want you to get an interview with the gentleman of the Rue Plumet house. See if he has any guesses about why Thenardier, Patron-Minette and _Les Frères Souriant_ were so keen to rob his house."

"Oh for God's sake, Javert..."

"I feel a lecture coming." Javert groaned, and he slumped down in his chair.

"I'll sit here in this confounded room with you, looking over the haphazard scratches you've written and called your theories this past weeks, but this is too much to ask. You want me to show up at this man's doorstep like some Spanish Inquisitor and not only bring up the most traumatic event in his life, but make him answer why he was chosen as a random target? I would rather sleep in a drain than do that to old Fauchelevent."

Javert snapped to attention. "What did you say his name was?"

"Fauchelevent. It said so in the case file. Why do you ask?"

"Never mind that. Where is he from?" Javert asked urgently.

"If I remember correctly, before living on Rue Plumet he worked as a gardener in the convent of Petit-Picpus. He's an old man, probably past fifty."

"Did he walk with a limp? Or at least some affliction to suggest an old injury to his leg?"

"Did he walk with a...how should I know? I've only met him once, when I went to inform him about the capture of the prowlers."

Javert got up from his seat, and began to pace about the room. "Picpus...an old man...a gardener? I think not." He muttered to himself. He turned back to Beauvais. "Does he live alone?"

"No. He lives with his daughter, but I can't remember her name." Beauvais gave him a curious look. "Are you feeling alright, sir? Has the strain finally gotten you?" He asked, only half-jokingly.

"Never mind that. Francois, what was the exact address? Not the street, we know that. The house number."

"I wasn't looking at their bloody _house number_! And why are you asking me? You've been there as well!"

"It was dark, I could not see." Javert protested. "And now there is nothing on earth I wish to know more..." He sighed angrily. "I'm sorry to do this to you, Beauvais, but there is one last task to this case. Find me Monsieur Fauchelevent's address, and I swear I will not involve you in this any longer."

Beauvais crossed his arms. "Not that I object to something so harmless, monsieur, but how on earth am I supposed to know which house is his?"

"Ask around. Surely someone as dedicated to crime-work as yourself has some contacts to speak with around Paris. Mention the name Fauchelevent, and find out what they know."

Beauvais' eyes lit up. "Aye, there are a few people I know who might help. Well, one in particular." He checked the clock on the wall. It said eight o'clock. "Give me two hours to ask this friend, monsieur. If I have an answer, I will return to the Prefecture and tell you. Then we shall set out for Rue Plumet."

Javert nodded, satisfied. "Good. I shall expect you later."

Beauvais gave a small bow to him, and began to leave. He was about to cross the threshold of the office when he stopped, and, turning to Javert one last time, said "I can't help but wonder, monsieur, as to why a reputed officer like you is taking so much interest in a regular old bourgeois." He shrugged, and was gone.

Javert breathed heavily. "_Because, Beauvais, if this man is who I think he is, he's no more bourgeois than the number I knew him as_." He thought. "_A reputed officer, you say...thank you for that, my boy, and thank you for not knowing the truth. That my roots are even lower than your own squalid ones. Oh yes, Beauvais,you may not know it, but it is true...you know nothing of Javert. I was born inside a jail. I was born with scum like Thenardier and Marceau Chapard. Yes, it is true; I am from the gutter too._"


	28. Law's Intimacy with Debauchery

**Chapter 28: Law's Intimacy with Debauchery**

"Is Mademoiselle Pompidou in residence tonight?" Beauvais asked the doorman.

He snorted. "You want to throw away at least twenty sous on _that_?"

"That's not my purpose for being here." Beauvais opened the left side of his coat, revealing his inspector's badge.

The doorman's eyes widened. "Copper! What are you-"

"This is a private investigation, monsieur. Now if you don't mind, I need to speak with Adrienne." Beauvais shoved his way past the doorman and entered the house.

_The Sailor of Brittany _was not the most populated brothel in the Quarter St. Michel, but it was certainly the largest and the most lavish. It attracted workers from Saint Antoine, students from the Latin Quarter, and, according to some rumors, policemen from the Prefecture. If this was true, Beauvais had never seen proof, and his presence here tonight was by no means related to that sort of thing.

Well, at least not this night. His one weakness did linger here, charming him with her smiles, but now he determined to turn his heart into stone.

'_Rather like_ _Javert._' He thought amusedly.

Before leaving the Prefecture, Beauvais had changed out of his inspector's uniform and into regular worker clothes; a tall black hat with a narrow brim, a black shirt over a blue coat, and dirty grey trousers. If the doorman kept his mouth shut, no one would think of him as anything but the typical brothel-goer. They would see exactly what they expected to see, and nothing more.

Beauvais climbed the stairs to the third floor, which was the top floor of the house. He bumped into a drunken man on the way, dressed loudly in a bright yellow cravat and overcoat. His large hat, also yellow, almost completely hid his face from Beauvais' perception.

"Watch it, Jacques." He growled.

"Sorry, monsieur." Beauvais apologized. He hurried along the hall-way, and knocked on the door numbered "32".

"Yes?" A female voice drawled.

"It's me," Beauvais said, trying to hide the nervousness in his voice. "May I come in?"

There was no need to ask. The door swung open, and a young woman stood in front of Beauvais. She was just as tall as he was, with long, dark eyelashes and thick red hair. She was dressed elegantly for a woman of her station; a bright, colorful chemise, a close-fitting bodice and skirt as well as a small red hat she wore tilted an angle on her head. She had a quirky smile on her thin pink lips when she saw Beauvais.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't my old friend Captain Beauvais. What a lovely evening for him to decide to visit his poor mistress again."

"I'm an inspector now, Adrienne, not a captain. I've been promoted."

"Alright then. I'll change my approach; 'good evening, dear Inspector, lovely evening, my dear.' Care for a kiss?" She leaned forward, closing her eyes and puckering her lips.

Beauvais gently pushed her back. "I don't have time for that. I need to ask you something."

"Oh, God. Is there one of your dull cases again, Francois?" Adrienne pouted. "I thought you came to my bed to get away from all that."

"I do," Beauvais assured her. "But I haven't come to your bed for your body, _cherie_. I've come to your bedroom to for your answers."

She sighed melodramatically. "I prefer the first one. At least then I get some excitement out of it."

"Your humor is ever my solace." Beauvais said sarcastically. "May I come in?" He asked for the second time.

Adrienne shrugged, and stepped aside so that he could enter. It wasn't a very large room, nor a very fancy one. It was lit only by a few bright candles which rested on the night-stand, and the only other furniture was a small desk against the wall, a wardrobe next to it and a large bed in the center.

"How have you been, since I saw you last?" He asked her, trying to keep the conversation casual for the present.

"Business has been good." She said formally.

"For you in particular, or for the _Sailor_ in general?"

"The _Sailor_, of course. Come now, Francois. You _know_ I don't collect profit that way. You're the only one I see, and you should always know it." Adrienne teased. "Last week, my cousin from America arrived in Paris, with a business proposition for me; three Creole girls as sinful as the Devil himself. These foolish workers don't know what to make of them, so they just keep tossing their money at them." She chuckled cynically. "If they go broke this quickly, they may be too poor to fight in the revolution!"

Beauvais perked up at that. "I'm sorry, did you say "revolution"?"

"Oh, never mind that." Adrienne said quickly. "It's just some silly rumor a bunch of bourgeois students have spread around recently. I listen to their money, not their words."

"Speaking of money, I think now is the time I ask you for what I came here for." Beauvais said, not too unkindly. "Have you ever heard of a man named Thenardier? Known to some as Le Chacal?"

Adrienne's laughter contain no humor in it. "Aye, I have. The _salopard_ nearly drank himself to death in the beginning of February, but I haven't seen him since. He's dead now, isn't he?"

Beauvais nodded. "I helped Doctor DuPont declare him dead myself. Alexandre Cambriol died that same night. They were both victims of their own gang, consumed by greed and hatred. Or at least it was in Thenardier's case. I've never been certain about why they murdered Cambriol as well."

"Alexandre is dead?" Said Adrienne, with much more emotion in her voice this time. "Mon Dieu; I'll hate breaking that news to the girls. Whenever he and that lowlife cousin of his, Chapard, pulled off a successful heist, they'd come in here with their pockets flowing with francs. Chapard, the lecher, would spend most of it in one night, on more drink and tail than he needed for a whole year. Cambriol, on the other hand...he was a saint to these poor ladies. He'd gather up some of the most wretched ones, like Odette, Marie, Anne and a few others, and give them whatever they needed, for themselves or for their bastard children in some cases. And never once did he so much as touch one of them." She sighed. "If that man's dead, I pray to God that He brought Alexandre to Heaven. And I don't pray a lot."

"I never knew that about Cambriol." Beauvais commented. "I wonder why he kept it such a secret."

"I asked him that myself once. He was a bit shifty about-said something about a dead sister-and didn't answer me anymore after that. But Francois; I don't think Thenardier is the reason you're asking me about him."

She was always very intelligent, Beauvais remembered. Maybe that was why he admired her so, for her brains as well as for her looks. "You're right. I was wondering if you knew anything about a daughter of his."

Adrienne gave a small gasp. "You don't mean Éponine, do you?"

"I suppose. I don't know her name. Just that Thenardier was rather...abusive towards her."

She snorted. ""Abusive" isn't descriptive enough. I'd need both hands to count how many times that girl's run into this very room, sobbing and with horrible bruises. Two years ago-she couldn't have been more than sixteen-her father dragged her into the bar downstairs, and made me an offer; if I took her in for one week and offered her as a premium feature, not only would he split half her earnings with me but give me a bonus from some fancy friends of his; the Patron-Minette."

"And you accepted?" Beauvais asked, incredulous.

"Please understand, Francois, this was long before we met." Adrienne said apologetically. "I had just taken over this shack from Madame Ferrant, and I needed all the money I could lay my hands on. Please, let me finish. After two days into the bargain, Éponine was a wreck; miserable, starved, fatigued, terrified and distrustful of everything. Just because I was greedy didn't mean I didn't have a heart. I sent her back to her father with her pay, and some extra francs to stay his temper, and I didn't see her again until a month later, when she was beaten harshly for whatever reason and could only think to come here. We became...friends, I suppose. I'd always give her a bit of food to bring back home for herself and for her sister. She is a girl to be pitied, I tell you, and beautiful as well. As are too many that I know." She sighed, then looked curiously at Beauvais. "Why are you asking me about this?"

"The night before Thenardier died, he was planning a house-robbery with Patron-Minette and the Smiling Brothers. He failed because Éponine reportedly screamed for help, and he had to flee before police arrived. Obviously, he failed. Now, Inspector Javert is interested in learning that house's address, and since all the criminals there that night are dead or in hiding, I used my knowledge of Éponine that I had briefly gained from Thenardier, and thought of coming to you."

"How intrepid of you." She complimented. "Although, I wish you didn't need an excuse about that fussy old Javert just to come and see me. I take it he doesn't know exactly who you're talking with about Éponine?"

"He does not, and will not." Beauvais agreed. "I admire Inspector Javert a great deal, but his heart is in a place I do not understand. He does not feel, I think, like other people do. He is not so much the law's enforcer as he is its unyielding embodiment."

"Very poetic, I'm sure." Said Adrienne, sounding bored. "Well, you're in luck, Francois. On the seventeenth of February, Éponine ran in here as she's done before, only this time she wasn't hurt. I'm not used to playing confessor, I admit, but she fairly poured her soul out to me. She told that the previous night, horrible things had happened. Montparnasse had died, some boy she was mooning over had fallen for somebody else, and she'd hardly escaped being put in Les Madelonettes." Adrienne looked seriously at Beauvais. "She told me all this happened at Number 55, Rue Plumet."

Beauvais sighed in satisfaction. "Merci, Adrienne, merci. I promise, I will make this favor up to you."

She smiled. "You will indeed, Francois Beauvais. You will indeed."

* * *

One hour later, Beauvais was back in the Prefecture, again in the officer of Inspector Javert. He didn't bother to introduce himself. He simply said "55, Rue Plumet."

Javert nodded curtly. "Thank you, Beauvais. You may have just helped the complete the greatest chase in my life."

"This is about more than the robbery, isn't it Inspector?"

"It certainly is. Thenardier's robbery has just been a new chapter in a very old story. And if you regret your abetting...well, it's too late for that. You are dismissed."

Beauvais bowed to him, and left. But while he was still in earshot of Javert, he heard the inspector say "Oh, and Beauvais? The next time you need to visit your mistress for advice, do it a bit more stealthily."

The younger inspector stopped in his tracks, and turned, stupefied, towards the elder. "How did you know...?"

Javert shrugged. "I've had suspicions for some time now that the "honorable" Inspector Beauvais kept a mistress, and I knew you would use your knowledge of Éponine as your lead to Fauchelevent's address. It was, after all, your best lead. That brings up the subject of whores and such, so I went to the_ Sailor_ right before you did, and waited for you to arrive; proving that Mademoiselle Pompidou is your great weakness. I was only pretending to be drunk, by the way."

With that last sentence, all of the pieces suddenly clicked in Beauvais' mind. "You look dreadful in a yellow cravat, you know." Was his only reply.

Javert then did something Beauvais had never thought him capable of doing. He laughed.


	29. The Night is Closing In

**Chapter 29: The Night is Closing In**

Javert knocked on the door of Number 55, Rue Plumet, fingering his nightstick.

He was unexpectedly jittery about this. As soon as Beauvais had left him, he'd begun his journey to the Rue Plumet, determined to unmask and re-imprison the man he believed to be Jean Valjean. Earlier, his resolve had been as hard as iron. But now it was beginning to weaken.

This had happened the last time Javert had been on Valjean's trail, nine years ago in this very city. He'd been uncertain whether the old gentleman with the little girl was truly Jean Valjean, and that uncertainty had cost him the time he needed to capture Valjean. And now he felt his doubts broiling within him once more. They would not be there at all, if Beauvais had simply told him that an old man and a girl lived in this house. But he'd also said that the old man's name was Fauchelevent.

Javert remembered, very clearly, the old carter whose life Jean Valjean had saved in Montreuil, when he had been known as Monsieur Madeleine. He knew that when old Fauchelevent had become disabled, Valjean had sent him to work as a gardener in a Parisian convent, whose name, Petit-Picpus, Javert had only recently learned from Beauvais. It was the same district where Valjean and his young confederate has disappeared in that night Javert had been hunting them, and he wouldn't be surprised at all if Valjean, notorious for his prison escapes, had found some way to magic himself and the child inside the convent.

The girl was undoubtedly the same child Javert had seen with Valjean in 1823; she was likely, even, to be the child of Fantine whom Valjean had been so set upon obtaining. Javert remembered Valjean's plea at Fantine's deathbed, begging him to leave town for three days and collect her daughter; a fancy excuse to escape justice yet again.

But who was the man? Was it truly Jean Valjean, or was it, in fact, old Fauchelevent himself, retired from the convent and living comfortably in Paris? Was the girl a relative of his, and Fantine as well?

Javert was forced to swallow his doubts as the door opened, and he found himself staring at a young woman, somewhere between sixteen and seventeen years old, with charming blue eyes and long blonde hair. Given the lateness of the hour, she was clad only in her nightgown, and was rightfully startled by the tall, stoic figure of Javert.

"Can I help you, monsieur?" She asked him, a hint of trepidation in her tone.

"Yes, mademoiselle. I am Inspector Javert, Paris Prefecture of Police. I've come about the attempted robbery on your house in February. The case has finally closed, and the culprits sentenced." That wasn't a total lie, at least. Chapard was indeed convicted, and three others dead, but Patron-Minettte was still on the run.

She sighed, relieved. "Well, thank God for that. What a horrific night that was! My poor father couldn't sleep for days afterwards."

"Yes, I'm very sorry." Javert said hastily, seizing his chance. "I was wondering if I might be able to share the exact results with your father. May I come in?"

The girl nodded, and allowed him to enter. She called, "Papa! There's a police inspector here who wants to speak with you."

A hoarse voice called from a room down the hall "An inspector? Who?"

"He says his name is Javert."

A short pause. "What does he want?"

"The men behind the robbery have been caught. He wants to discuss it with you." Said the girl.

Another pause, longer this time. Then, from the closest bedroom, an old man emerged, his face drawn in a haggard expression.

Javert studied him. This was not the exhausted galley-slave Valjean, nor was it the prosperous mayor Madeleine. His hair was longer and grayer, and his forehead was lined with the marks of age. But Javert could still see signs of the rogue he had once known; the height was the same, the signs of great physical strength, and the way he slightly dragged his left leg. Yes, this man could be Jean Valjean...but Javert needed more proof to entirely rule out the possibility of him being Fauchelevent.

Valjean/ Fauchelevent looked from the girl, to Javert, and back to the girl, looking deep in thought. "Run along now, Cosette." He told her kindly. "You don't have to hear this."

Deciding not to argue. Cosette left the room, mystified. The man offered Javert a seat by the kitchen, and Javert took it.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur..." Javert pretended not to know his name, whichever one it was.

"Fauchelevent." Said Valjean/Fauchelevent gruffly.

"Ah, I thought you looked familiar. Though I doubt you'd remember me from back then."

"We have met before, monsieur?" Valjean/Fauchelevent asked, with confusion that almost sounded genuine.

"We have. I used to be head of police in Montreuil-sur-mer, when Monsieur Madeleine was the mayor. I was there the day you had your accident."

"Ah, I remember now!" Valjean/Fauchelevent said, sounding delighted by his memory. Perhaps it was only Javert's imagination, but it seemed to him that the old man's accent shifted by the typical Parisian sounds that Javert was used to, to a more rustic tone like the one spoken by the northern peasants. "Good Monsieur Madeleine was a godsend that day, and has been ever since. He saved my life, gave me a job in Picpus...why, he even brought me a granddaughter I never knew I had!"

"Cosette is your granddaughter?" Ask Javert. "I thought you were her father. She calls you "Papa", after all."

Valjean/Fauchelevent chuckled. "Do you think a man my age could have a child like that? No, good Inspector. She calls me "Papa" simply because I have always been her only family. Many years ago, you see, my daughter left Montreuil to go to Paris, and she had a child; Cosette. However, she could not afford to keep her with her. She had to send her away until she could get enough money to support them both."

There was a familiar ring to this story that greatly reminded Javert of something. "What was her name? Your daughter?"

"Fantine, monsieur."

Javert silently cursed himself. Damn him, but the old man's story rang with plausibility. After her adventure in Paris, it was completely logical that Fantine would deposit her bastard child in Montfermeil, and then return to Montreuil; her hometown where her father still lived. Javert didn't remember Fauchelevent claiming Fantine as his daughter, nor Fantine ever once mentioning the elderly carter. Of course, Fantine never spoke a word to him that didn't involve her daughter, and Javert had never actually spoken with Fauchelevent, nor seen him up close, which was a source of great annoyance to him at present.

"I see. Tell me; how did Cosette come into your life?"

"By a miracle, Monsieur Javert. One night, some time after living in Petit-Picpus, Monsieur Madeleine appeared, right in the middle of my gardens! He had left Montreuil as well, I do not know why, and he had a little girl with whom he told me was my granddaughter. He had fetched her from her foster-parents as a favor for her ill mother. He told me of my poor Fantine's death, and I negotiated with the prioress to allow the two of them to stay in the convent. The three of us were a cheerful little family...until Monsieur Madeleine died, of course."

Javert flinched. "Jean Val-I'm sorry, _Madeleine_ is dead?"

"Yes, yes." Fauchelevent said sadly. "He was a very old man, you know. He died a few years ago, in fact, and Cosette and I left the convent to live here in Rue Plumet instead."

Javert got up from the chair, his blood pumping. This was now worse than useless. Jean Valjean was dead, long dead, and Javert was angrily certain that he was sitting here with a genial old man who was no more guilty in this matter than Cosette. "I see. Thank you for your time, Monsieur Fauchelevent. Goodbye."

Javert gave him a quick tip of his hat, and tried not to storm out of Number 55, gnawing furiously on the bitter, unsatisfying end to his greatest investigation.

* * *

After Javert had left, Cosette came back to Jean Valjean, who was still seated comfortably in the kitchen. "Well? What did he tell you about the end of the robbers?" She asked.

"Funnily enough," Valjean told her mildly. "He didn't even bring it up. The two of us just... reminisced on old times, I suppose you might say."


	30. Look Down

**Chapter 30: Look Down**

**A/N: So, guess what? I'm doing Musical Number _Numero Deux_! Apparently, enough people liked the first one to want to see a second. :) This one, however, is all original Les Mis goodness. I do not own it, BTW.**

* * *

_Jean Valjean dreamed of the galleys again._

_Since leaving Toulon all those years ago, his mind wandered back to that place in his dreams when it grew uneasy. And it never been more uneasy than now, when his lifelong phantom had come again at last, wielding the retribution Valjean had always feared._

_Why was is this night he always dreamed of? He did not know. Was this, in fact, not just one night, but many such nights combined into one of especial cruelty? He did not know that either. Time for him had long ago lost its meaning in the living hell that were the galleys of Toulon._

_He was with his chain-gang at the oars again. Whatever their true names had been, they had lost them long ago like him, and been given meaningless numbers like his own. 66420, 14798, 52203...the lists went on and on. Valjean's own number, he remembered, was 24601. Prisoner 24601...for nineteen years, that had been his name._

_The drums were starting to beat, which meant they were about to begin the chant._

_Who had created the chant? He could not say. Was this the only chant? He could not say. Perhaps on other galleys they sang other songs, but on this one, it was always the same; the same sepulchral tune that dictated their lives. _

_Valjean had learned the chant in his second year at Toulon. He had at first abhorred the words sung by the droning voices of the convicts; until he'd added his own to theirs. This was the only time that any of them could express their hatred, their pain, and their utter hopelessness. And because they were given this chance-this one chance-to speak their mind, they chose to sing._

_Valjean, as leader of the chain-gang, was the one who had to start. "Look down, look down, don't look 'em in the eye." He grunted._

_"Look down, look down, you're here until you die." The other convicts said monotonously._

_"The sun is strong, it's hot as hell below." One cried out._

_"Look down, look down, there's twenty years to go." They replied._

_"I've done no wrong, sweet Jesus hear my prayer!" A second convict wailed._

_"Look down, look down, sweet Jesus doesn't care." Was his only answer._

_"I know she'll wait, I know that she'll be true." A third persisted._

_The same response. "Look down, look down, they'll have forgotten you."_

_"When I get free, you won't see me 'ere for dust!" The fourth convict growled._

_"Look down, look down, don't look 'em in the eye." They all said together. _

_"How long, dear Lord, before you let me die?" The last asked desperately._

_And then, together, they brought it to its finale. "Look down, look down, you'll always be a slave. Look down, look down, you're standing in your grave."_

* * *

_They kept rowing for long hours after that sad song had ended, until they at last brought the ship into harbor. No sooner had they done so than did Jean Valjean at last collapse upon the creaking wooden floor, feeling as though his arms were on fire. If God had the mercy to leave him like this forever, then Valjean would forgive him for all the injustices He had inflicted upon him in an instant. _

_But God was never merciful in Toulon. His only representatives of man were the wretched, red-clad vermin Valjean spent all his days with, and the crisp, blue-suited hawks like the one who had approached him._

_"Get up." He said, with steel in his voice. _

_Valjean did not answer, nor move from where he was._

_The officer kicked him in the ribs, hard. "I said, get up." He repeated, even more harshly this time._

_Jean Valjean had no wish to be treated any more like a dog than he already was, but he wasn't afraid of this man either. So, deliberately slowly, he stood up, looking the officer right in the face. He was younger than Valjean was, with close-cropped black whiskers and a prison guard's beret on his head. There was a fierce look in his eyes that gave Valjean the general impression of a bloodhound._

_"Tell me your identification, prisoner."_

_"24601." Valjean said without emotion._

_The man nodded. "I will remember that name the next time I catch you taking an unwarranted respite. And as for me, my name is Javert. You would do well, prisoner, not to forget it."_


	31. Love is the Garden of the Young

**Chapter 31: Love is the Garden of the Young**

Jean Valjean awoke from the nightmare in a cold sweat.

He gave himself a little shake, trying to clear his head. Even after all this time, he remembered that meeting so well. Perhaps it was only because it had been a short break from the cruel monotony of the galleys, or because of the threat Javert would present in later life. But that did not nothing to calm his wary mind. He'd suspected that he'd dream this dream last night before he went to bed, suspicion did nothing to shield him from the memory brought on by Javert's appearance.

Valjean was no fool. He knew that Thenardier's failed burglary would attract the authorities to his house, but he hadn't counted on Javert as its messenger. Javert...since that cold, wet day in 1815 Toulon, Javert had been Valjean's relentless pursuer and tormentor He'd dogged him those hard months after first breaking his parole, administered a swift, unfeeling sentence upon Fantine in Montreuil, come so close to capturing him and Cosette upon their flight to Petit-Picpus, and he'd unraveled enough of Valjean's secrets to make him come _here_, to Rue Plumet.

The odd thing was, in all these things, there was nothing Valjean blamed Javert for.

Long ago, Jean Valjean had realized that Javert was no more than the spectre that justice had set at his heels. Valjean remembered the officer who has first come to investigate the robbery; a friendly young man named Captain Beauvais. Beauvais could have just as easily been the man to hunt Valjean across the years, and the results would have been almost the same as they were now. There was no conflict to have with any law-men, be it Javert or Beauvais. The law itself was Valjean's opponent, not its enforcers. So long as Jean Valjean remained an unpardoned thief, the law would strive to bring him down.

Which would be, unfortunately, for ever.

Although Valjean was rather proud of his quick thinking in deceiving Javert-claiming Fantine as his daughter and that it had been himself who died in Petit-Picpus and not Fauchelevent-he knew that it was a small victory. There was always the threat of the suspicious policeman, or the curious ex-convict. Then Valjean's precious, dishonorable mask would come off, and he'd be dragged back to the fate Life had dealt him.

He'd long ago stopped caring about himself in this matter. It was for Cosette that he had any concern. She was already such a lonely child. To lose her only protector...

Valjean got out of bed. The dream had given him a fright, that was all. Should he not be satisfied? He and Cosette were still safe, and he had just shaken off his most ardent foe. There was nothing more to fear.

Jean Valjean quickly dressed himself. It was either very late, but he decided to sit and read in the garden of Number 55. Cosette kept such lovely flowers in there to admire, and reading always cleared his head.

He yawned, grabbed a book off of the little table next to the bed, and headed towards the door that led outside to the garden. He was just about to open it and leave, when he head voices on the other side.

Valjean stopped, mystified. His maid, Toussaint, was the heaviest sleeper he had ever known, and Cosette was supposed to be in bed. It was...what? Eleven in the evening? What could she be doing out in the garden?

Jean Valjean pressed his ear against the door, straining to hear more. The first thing he heard was Cosette saying "Must it happen so soon? I couldn't bear it if something happened to you."_  
_

A different voice, a male one, said "Nothing will happen to me, _cherie_. And the date isn't mine to control, nor anyone else's. Lamarque already has one foot in the grave, Enjolras tells us, and if we don't act once he dies, who knows when such an opportunity will arise again?"

Valjean frowned. That voice...there was something very familiar about that voice.

Cosette sighed. "I suppose you're right." She said sadly. "But even so, I am fearful. June starts in less than a week. So little time left until you must leave me and join your friends!"

"I would _never _leave you." The man promised. "My darling Cosette, have you forgotten the words we spoke to each other that night in February? Upon my life, I swear that my feelings are no different since then. Since then...I've come to know you better than I ever dreamed, and love you even more. What I must do with the Amis is temporary; but this love is eternal."

Cosette let out a gasp of delight. Valjean nearly did the same, only it was one of despair. Partly because of the words spoken, and partly because he now recognized the young man's voice; it was none other the student from the Gorbeau tenement, Marius Pontmercy.

A flurry of questions buzzed in Valjean's brain. How on earth had Pontmercy found where he and Cosette lived? He certainly hadn't given the boy the address himself, and he greatly doubted that Jondrette-or rather, Thenardier-had either. And how long had this young dandy been seeing Cosette? He mentioned something about February...could Cosette really have fooled him for so long?

His panicked thought-process was interrupted by Cosette's reply. "How sweet you are, Marius! Truly, does a happier girl live in Paris than I?"

They both laughed quietly. "Will I see you again before the fighting begins?" Cosette asked him.

"I should think so." Pontmercy replied. "I will try and come tomorrow night; if I don't, then the next night." There was a pause, and Valjean heard footsteps moving through the garden. "But if General Lamarque should die tonight..." Pontmercy began. He sighed. "Then I don't think I could. If that is the case, pray for your Marius, Cosette. He prays for you." There was a soft squishing sound, and Valjean had a horrific image of him kissing her hand. That was followed by the rusty opening of the garden gate, and then silence.

Jean Valjean felt his blood starting to run cold. He moved away from the door silently, so Cosette would not hear him, and returned to his room. He sat down as soon as he could, for he did not trust his legs to stand.

This was the day Valjean had feared most, even more than his recapture. A young man, one whom Cosette was obviously was infatuated with, had appeared to change his life. He would take Cosette away-to be his wife at best, his mistress at worst-and leave Valjean alone in the world once again, as lonely as that poor galley-slave who'd been kicked by a prison-guard.

This was too much for one night. Within several hours, Valjean's world had been turned upside down. Javert had reappeared, and now this.

Valjean put his head in his hands. He must do something, oh yes. He must get Cosette away from this boy, this Marius. What did either of them know of love, anyway? They were children, playing a children's game. The only way to kill this snake was to murder it in the shell, and that might mean leaving Rue Plumet. More so, it might even mean leaving France.

This was not the first time Jean Valjean had toyed with the idea of leaving the country. He'd thought of going to England, maybe, and forever divorcing the wretched existence he had known in this country. Of course, that motive had always been solely about fleeing the law. Now, it seemed as though he could kill two birds with one stone.

But no sooner had Valjean approved the idea of emigrating then he cast it away. Really, this was too radical a decision. Leave France, everything he had ever known, because he'd had a brief encounter with an old foe and discovered that Cosette had a sweetheart? And Cosette! He forced himself to consider her feelings in this matter; uprooted yet again, forced to drag behind her father as he relentlessly pushed on towards Calvary on this never-ending road.

He took a deep breath. He could not leave France, but neither could he sit here, static, as Cosette experimented with dangerous passions and Javert sniffed at his trail. His head throbbed with worrying. Perhaps this was why people took holidays; to relieve the mind of its burdens. The last time Valjean's mind was completely at peace had been in-

Hmmm.

* * *

The next morning, Jean Valjean spoke with Cosette about his plan over breakfast. "I have some exciting news for you. We are leaving Paris."

As he'd expected, her face froze. "What?" She cried, louder than she meant it.

"I don't mean forever." Valjean amended. "I've prepared a little vacation into the mountain-lands, just the two of us. I've meaning to do it for some time now, but only last night did I think of getting it underway."

Cosette squirmed in her seat. "How long will we be away?" She asked.

"A week, I'd say. Perhaps one or two days more."

She tugged at the ends of her long blonde hair, the way she always did when she was agitated. She was no doubt dreading being away from Marius for that long, and Valjean hated himself for taking some small amount of pleasure in watching her discomfort.

"We'll begin packing at noon." He told her. "A train will bring us as far as Pontarlier. It will be two or three diligence rides from there to our destination."

"But where is that?" Cosette asked him. "Papa, where are we going?"

Valjean sighed, with an air of nostalgia that Cosette could not have seen. "Digne, Cosette. We are going to the town of Digne."

"You have been there before?"

"Once." He said simply. "I've traveled there only once. But I assure you; the experience was quite a memorable one."


	32. In Which the Rose Leaves the Underworld

**May 29, 1832**

**Chapter 32: In Which the Rose Leaves the Underworld**

When Éponine woke up that morning, she discovered Azelma and Maman hard at work.

She'd had a wonderful evening. Last night, the Cafe Musain had hosted a group of Feuilly's friends from Les Halles; workers. They were members of the ABC Society as well, and good friends with the students. Enjolras had invited them to the Musain to show them their completed plans for the revolution, and they talked for long hours about how best to fend off the National Guard as they were building the barricade. Éponine respected Enjolras greatly, but it was incredible how long that boy could be drone on about overthrowing the French government. Fortunately, Marius had been at the meeting as well, so at least she had a friend to suffer through it with. Unfortunately, he'd gone to Rue Plumet immediately afterwards.

How did Éponine know this? She certainly hadn't followed him there to find out. Éponine had not been to Rue Plumet since the night Montparnasse had died, and she wasn't very keen on a return. But it was easy to tell whether Marius planned to or not; if he wasn't, he would be just as determined and involved as Enjolras in the revolution's affairs. But if he was, he'd simply stare into space, looking as if he'd seen a ghost.

Éponine had said farewell to the Amis and to Marius, and headed home to Gorbeau House. Maman had actually greeted her on her arrival, which was very unexpected. The Jondrette garret had been very quiet since Thenardier's death, and no one's surprise Monsieur Fauchelevent had not come back with more aid. However, with Papa's drinking habits finally over, the three of them had been able to save up enough francs to see themselves through spring. Gavroche, in a completely unanticipated act of generosity, had come by last week with a loaf of bread for them. It wasn't that bad either. He hadn't told them where he'd gotten it, and while Éponine suspected some sort of foul play, she'd been too hungry to care where it came from.

Anyway, what caught Éponine's curiosity that morning as she awoke was that her mother and her sister were packing. They'd thrown their few possessions into the musty old valise Papa had kept, and they were now depositing their dirty spare clothes with great care.

"What are you doing?" She asked her mother.

Mme. Thenardier looked up from her task at Éponine, "Oh, very good, you're awake. Come here, my dear, and help your sister with her things."

"You're avoiding my question, Maman."

She sighed. "I was hoping I would only have to tell you later..."

"Do it now." Azelma urged. "I'm sure she'll love it."

Maman tried to hide her smile, but failed. "Éponine, we are leaving Gorbeau House."

Éponine's jaw dropped. "What? How? We barely have enough money to feed ourselves, much less pay our rent and move out."

"I thought much the same thing. Until I found this." Maman reached into her blouse pocket and pulled out a small leather bag. She tossed it to Éponine. "Open it."

She did, and she gasped in amazement. The bag was filled with money! Two-franc notes, five-franc notes, twenty-franc notes...more money than Éponine had ever seen in all her life.

"Maman! Where in the world did you get all this?"

"Look at the engraving on the outside. That should give you an answer."

Éponine squinted at the side of the pouch. The writing was faint, but she could still make it out: _A. Cambriol_.

"This money was Alexandre's? But then how do we have it?"

"He must have dropped it here in the garret the night your father and Montparnasse tried to kill him. He knew better than to come back here for it, so he to contend with his loss. Your father hid this from us, the cretin, and likely planned on using it for drinking money and not food. But he, um...had his accident before he could do any such thing." Mama cleared her throat. Even after all this time, she still could not bring herself to admit that her husband had been murdered.

"But how does this solve our problems?" Éponine asked.

"I counted all the money a week ago. It totals to almost one thousand francs; Cambriol was more of a high-roller than we guessed. I went all around Paris, asking the shop-keepers and factory owners if they needed any employees. Finally, I found one; the wine-shop of a Monsieur Charles Grosjean on the Rue Saint-Denis. He didn't want to hire me, but after I showed him the money-bag he became a little more negotiable. This is the bargain we struck; Grosjean would employ me as his barmaid-I refused point-blank to be a scullion-and he would install the three of us in the vacant garret in the top floor of his shop. We'd pay our rent every six months. Fifteen francs for all three of us. That would have been enough, but Grosjean offered one more thing; he had a brother-in-law who worked down the street, an owner of a cloth factory. He was also hiring, and Grosjean would ask him if he would consider employing Azelma. The next day, he told me that he had accepted the offer." She smiled. "Last night, I paid old Madame Bougon the last of our rent, and 'Zelma and I started packing as soon as we were awake. We can leave this place as soon as we're done, 'Ponine. Another story is about to begin."

Éponine looked at her mother, awestruck. Could this be true? Were they really leaving the Gorbeau tenement? "Maman, that's incredible! I…I don't know what to say!"

Azelma grinned broadly. "You can say that you're going to help us pack these clothes."

Éponine laughed heartily with her sister for the first time in months. She got out of bed, and packed away her few personal possessions. Even with Maman's, Azelma's and her own things in the valise, the suitcase couldn't have been more than three-quarters full. Éponine bombarded her mother with questions in the meantime; what their garret looked like, how often Maman would be able to see her and her sister, and what this Monsieur Grosjean was like.

She answered the last question first. "He seemed like a friendly enough fellow." She said. "Not at all like the Pantin sewer-rats you're used to hanging around, 'Ponine. He's probably the closest thing to a gentleman you'll ever meet."

"I'm not sure about that. "Said Azelma. "'Ponine has met that boy who lives next door, Monsieur Pontmercy."

Maman snorted. "Just because he calls himself a baron doesn't make him a gentleman."

"Marius _is_ a baron." Éponine snapped. "He told me so himself. And Marius doesn't lie."

Her mother gave her a strange look, no doubt surprised by her tone. Éponine looked at Azelma, wondering in a moment of panic if she would tell Maman what she and Éponine had discussed several months ago; that Éponine was in love with Marius.

She decided not to take any chances, and changed the subject. "Does Monsieur Grosjean have any family?" Éponine asked.

"He has a wife and a son whom I have met. "Madame Thenardier said, though it was clear she had forgotten the words about Marius. "His wife, Toinette, helps him to run the business. His son, Julien, is your age, I believe. Maybe a bit older."

There was very little conversation after that. At last, they had completed their packing, and were about to begin the journey to the Rue Saint-Denis.

Right before they left, Éponine turned to look back the door of the Gorbeau tenement. For two long years, this had been her home, if she could call it a home. This was where her father would emerge in a drunken rage and beat her, where she'd run from after having an argument with her family, and where Montparnasse had used her in the still hours of the night. It was where she'd met Marius, and Alexandre Cambriol as well, both of whose money had gotten her and her family to where they were going now.

She had a strange sort of thrilling pleasure in knowing that Papa and Parnasse were dead now, and could do no more harm to her. No demons would follow her from this tenement to the garret in the wine-shop. It was as her mother had said; another story was about to begin.

Some time after they'd started down the road, Éponine said to Madame Thenardier "Maman? What is this wine-shop called?"

"The Corinthe, dear. It's very popular with workers, I'm told, although it is also a meeting place for some shady political group; the something-something society, or whatever the name is. A dangerous group of radical revolutionaries. Don't worry, 'Ponine. I'm sure you won't meet any of them."

Éponine nodded, and she swallowed hard, trying to decide which piece of information would scare her mother more if she told her: that, technically, _she_ was one of those dangerous radicals, or that very soon that same wine-shop would become a center of a Parisian revolution.


	33. There's Been No One like Him Anywhere

**Chapter 33: There's Been No One like Him Anywhere**

As the three Thenardier women were making their way towards the Rue Saint-Denis, Éponine, who'd been swinging their valise lazily in trying to pass the time, suddenly lost her grip on it, and the bag fell to the pavement. The top snapped open, and a small pile of clothes spilled out of it.

"_Merde_." Éponine swore. "Hold on, I'll get it."

"Let me help you." Azelma offered.

"No no, it's my fault. You two go on, I'll catch up." She waved her mother and sister away, and crouched down, scooping the clothes back into the valise.

As she was performing this menial task, she heard a voice called "Éponine!"

She jumped, and turned around. She recognized the voice, but could hardly believe that its owner was speaking to her. But sure enough, Cosette was staring down at her from a two-story window, looking very distressed. Éponine hadn't realized that she and her family had walked down the Rue Plumet.

"Cosette? What is it?" She asked her.

The grisette turned to look inside the house. "I don't have much time, Éponine, so I'll have to make this quick. Could you do me a favor?"

She put her hands on her hips. "Depends on the favor."

"I want you to deliver this letter." Cosette hurried away from the window for a moment, and when she'd returned she was clutching a small, sealed piece of paper. "Papa and I are leaving in a few minutes for a trip to Digne. We'll be there for a whole week"

"Where is Digne?"

"Somewhere in the mountains, and farther from Paris than I've ever been, or want to be right now." Cosette sighed. "Anyway, I couldn't wait for Marius to come so that I could tell him in person, so I had no idea how to tell him I was leaving. But then I saw you walking down the road with your family, and I knew I could trust you." She smiled innocently. "I can trust with this, can't I, 'Ponine?"

For once in her life, Éponine didn't know what to say. To Cosette, this seemed like a very simple request; she'd obviously buried the hatchet of their childhood in Montfermeil, and knowing that Éponine had helped her romance with Marius before, she decided to call on her once again, But to Éponine, this was well and truly awkward. Cosette, of course, knew nothing of her hidden feelings for Marius, and that although she'd also laid their unequal upbringing to rest, being trusted to aid this pair of lovers was a very strange thing. Perhaps it was because it was Cosette who was asking her this time and not Marius, but still...she felt very uncomfortable about it.

However, that unease was no reason to refuse. Éponine knew better than anyone how much Marius loved Cosette, and he would be devastated to find her gone and not know where she was.

"Aye, you can trust me." She told the girl. "Just don't call me 'Ponine, _Alouette_."

"Only if you stop calling me _Alouette_."

"I will never stop calling you that."

"Same here."

The two girls laughed together, to Éponine's vast amazement. She was more used to laughing _at _Cosette than with her_, _but she supposed all things must change eventually.

"Alright, enough banter." Said Éponine. "Toss me the letter."

Cosette threw the letter out of the window as quickly as she could, and Éponine caught it before it could flutter to the ground.

"You promise that you will give it to him as soon as you can?" Cosette asked.

Éponine nodded.

"Thank you, Éponine. I promise that-"

Whatever she was about to say, a man's voice interrupted by saying "Cosette? Are you ready?"

"Yes, Papa!" Cosette called, not bothering taking her eyes off Éponine. "I'll be down in just one minute."

Cosette smiled at Éponine one last time, and disappeared back into the house.

Éponine looked down at the letter, the name "Marius" written in Cosette's lovely handwriting. Shrugging, she put the letter in her pocket, and, tossing the last of the clothes in the valise, and hurried to catch up to her mother and sister.

* * *

"Ah!" Said Monsieur Grosjean, beaming. He stood in front of the door to the Corinthe, his wife and son beside him. "So you have come here at last, Madame Thenardier! Am I correct when I guess that these two young ladies are your daughters?"

Grosjean was a bull-necked, fierce-looking man of about forty, and he wore neither a hat on his head, which was covered with short dark hair, or a coat over his torso. He was a dark man altogether, and although he was good-humored looking on the whole, he had a look of implacability that Éponine had seen in Enjolras; a kind of resolution that told you that nothing would sway this man from his goal.

Maman nodded. "This is my elder daughter, Éponine," She said, indicating her. "And this is Azelma."

"What lovely names." Madame Grosjean crooned. She looked almost nothing like her husband, save that they were close to the same age. She had long, rich brown hair, and a handsome face that suited her tall but stout figure. She wore a little red bonnet on her head, and a needlepoint was tucked into the front of her blue dress. "I've always wished I had a daughter, simply for the sake of naming her something beautiful."

Her son laughed. "Sorry to disappoint you so, mother."

The Grosjean boy stood out slightly in the family trio. He was about eighteen or so, with his mother's brown hair and his father's green eyes. He had a sharp, almost aquiline nose, dark eyebrows and a very square jaw. Out of the corner of her eye, she could her sister examining the boy with interest.

"Don't be silly, dear. Julien is still a fine name." Madame Grosjean gestured to Éponine. "Give me that valise, my dear, and I'll take it into the garret for you."

Amazed and impressed by her courtesy, Éponine did so, and followed everyone into the wine-shop.

The Corinthe was hosting mostly regular workers that day; ordinary factory-men from Saint Antoine and Les Halles. Éponine noticed, however, that a few of them wore the rosette pin that signified them as members of the ABC Society. She immediately turned her head away from them. She couldn't risk Maman catching her staring at the revolutionists and wondering why she was doing so.

Madame Grosjean led them up three flights of stairs until they came to the garret that Maman had so vaunted over. She could see why she had. It was twice as large as their old garret in the Gorbeau tenement, and best of all, there were three real beds placed next to one another along the wall.

Azelma gasped in delight, and rushed over to the bed on the left. She plopped down on it, hard, and sighed in pleasure. "Where did you get such comfortable beds, monsieur?" She asked Grosjean.

"I? Nowhere." He replied. "These were left here by the last family who rented the garret. They couldn't afford to bring them with them to the country, so they offered to sell them to me. I thought they'd make a nice house-warming present for the three of you."

Éponine laughed, and went to sit on the bed next to Azelma's. "I don't think "nice" goes far enough to describe the whitest sheets I've ever seen in my life, Monsieur Grosjean." She laid her arms behind her head and looked up at the ceiling. "Adieu, Gorbeau House. Bonjour, Corinthe!"

* * *

Late that evening, Éponine was awoken by the sound of a loud rap-tap-tap on the window across the garret floor.

Curious, and careful not to wake Azelma and Maman, Éponine crept to the window and peered out of it. The sight made her completely awake in an instant. It was Marius, throwing pebbles at her window. It was also raining a bit, and he looked as though he'd climbed out of a lake.

"What on earth are you doing here?" She hissed. She hadn't meant to sound so mean, but given the lateness of the hour she thought she deserved to be a little snappy.

Marius either didn't notice her tone or he didn't care, "Have you seen Cosette?" He asked without preamble.

Éponine's hand went to her pocket, where Cosette's letter still remained. "Why do you ask?"

"I told her I would meet her again tonight, but when I went to Rue Plumet the house was empty. Even the maid had left. I looked everywhere for you so that I could ask you if you'd seem her at all today."

"How did you know we'd left Gorbeau House? We-" Éponine broke off, and closed her eyes in frustration. "Bougon?" She asked Marius.

He nodded. "She said you and your family had gone to live in a wine-shop on the Rue Saint-Denis, and I knew that that could only be the Corinthe. I have met Julien Grosjean before: he's a member of the Amis too, but his father doesn't know that. Old Charles is a bourgeois and a royalist to the core, see, and Julien works hard at keeping his connections secret."

"That would explain why he wasn't wearing the rosette pin when I met him." Éponine guessed.

Marius nodded again. "But enough about Julien. Have you seen Cosette?"

"I can honestly say that I have." Said Éponine candidly. Since telling him about her past in the Luxembourg Gardens, Éponine had decided she would not lie to Marius ever again...except in that one secret, personal matter which she could not yet force herself to tell him.

Marius blinked in surprise. Hed obviously been expecting a no. "Really? When?"

"This morning, when we were coming here to the Corinthe. She was getting ready to leave Paris with her father."

The boy made a sort of strangled gasp. "Leaving Paris?" He echoed.

She nodded. "She was packing in a hurry. I heard Monsieur Fauchelevent say something about immigrating to England. Maybe she's leaving France as well." She said before she could stop herself.

If Marius's face could fall any lower, it did. "But _why?" _He asked. She wasn't sure if he was addressing her, and simply thinking aloud.

"I don't know." Éponine answered anyway. "It seemed very much Fauchelevent's idea and nor her's. She's going along with it, though, since she loves him so much."

Marius began to pace about the street, getting even more soaked than he already was. Then he stopped and looked up at Éponine again. "Did she leave anything for me? A note, or a letter, explaining where she was going and why? How I could meet her again?"

Éponine's hand curled very tightly around the letter in her pocket. Why was she hesitating so much? It was so simple to bring it out and hand it over. She had promised Cosette that she would, and she honored her word. She had no reason to keep Marius so distressed by not saying that Cosette had simply taken a holiday to Digne...

Éponine told herself to stop pretending. She'd been pretending almost all her life; it was time to face the truth. And the truth was, she couldn't live without Marius. He meant to her whatever she must have meant to poor Alexandre Cambriol; the only light in a world full of darkness. She was in love with him, and that was why she could not bring that letter out of her pocket and give it to him. Éponine couldn't live without Marius...but Marius could live without her. That was the one thing she could find in her heart to hate about him.

"No," She said, knowing full well that this single word was tearing Marius's heart to pieces. "No, there was nothing she had to give you."

Marius choked back something that must have been a sob. He closed his eyes, and opened them again. He looked up dazedly at Éponine. "I see. Thanks anyway, 'Ponine." And he walked mournfully sown the Rue Saint-Denis.

Éponine crawled back into bed, and try to fall, unsuccessfully, back to asleep. She felt as though she should be feeling happy. Wasn't this a good thing? Marius might never see Cosette, if the revolution failed, and even if it did he may not seek her out, now that he believed that she had left him.

So why did she feel such guilt?


	34. The Wisdom of a Bishop's Sister

**June 2, 1832**

**Chapter 34: The Wisdom of a Bishop's Sister**

"Anything to eat, Monsieur Fauchelevent?" Asked the innkeeper, Labarre.

Jean Valjean nodded. "Some oatmeal for me, please. And if it's not too much trouble, lock our rooms once we have eaten and left. Cosette and I will not be back until late."

Labarre nodded in reply, then looked at Valjean hesitantly. "I've meant to ask you this for some time, monsieur, but; have we met before? Since I met you and your daughter five days ago, I've thought that your face looks familiar to me, if not the name."

Valjean shook his head, smiling. "I very much doubt it. I have only been Digne once before, and that is nigh on seventeen years ago." He decided to tell Labarre the truth; could he really believe him to be the haggard, ostracized ex-convict of years gone by? Even the great Javert had hardly seen through his mask; a simple man like Jacquin Labarre would see nothing at all.

"I see. I will be back soon with your breakfast, monsieur." He bowed to them, and scurried off to prepare Valjean's meal in the back kitchen.

''_How interesting.' _Jean Valjean thought once he had gone._ 'You take away the dirty yellow shirt, the shaved head, the hated name, and replace it with bourgeois respectability__...and underneath it all, the same man remains. Y__et all that the first was denied he is given. Appearance breeds effect, I suppose._'

Valjean and Cosette had been in Digne for almost a week now. In that time, they'd taken in the sights of the charming town Valjean had so briefly seen on his journey, before coming to the house of Monseigneur Myriel.

On their second day in Digne, Valjean had snuck a glimpse of the old church that the Bishop had made his home. Myriel was dead-had been for over ten years, Valjean knew- and the current Bishop of Digne, he'd recently learned, was a portly but generous man named Monseigneur Marsalis. The old bishop's sister and maid still lived there, but Valjean dared not come enter the church lest they recognize him. Or worse, demand their silver back, which would be rather hard to do, as the remaining candlesticks were back in Paris.

After breakfast, the two of them made ready to leave Labarre's inn. They were going to take a walk around Digne's mountainous passes today, which Jean Valjean was most anxious to do. He wanted to hike along the paths he'd treaded so long ago, and feel the satisfaction that he was near his memory's own Jerusalem; near the place where his spirit had been redeemed-"Saved for God", Myriel had said-and it gave Valjean great comfort to know that since then he had continued on the right road.

They were just about to leave, when Valjean saw a large column of people marching down the road. It was evidently a funeral parade: a long black hearse traveled with the marchers, with them hovering around it like moths to a flame. A trio of mourners, all dressed in the darkest blacks, were closest to the hearse, and they shuffled along with the rest as the hearse made its way toward the graveyard by the church.

Valjean tapped the arm of one of the marchers. "Pardon me, monsieur, but who has died?"

"You new in town? You must be, if you don't know. It's Madame Magloire, the old bishop's servant. Almost ninety years she was, and now she's off to join her master at the throne of God." The man crossed himself. "You're welcome to come to the burial, you know. Old Myriel always included everyone in everything, and Mlle. Baptistine, his sister, is like to do the same."

"Thank you. I think I might." Valjean let the man proceed, and he turned to Cosette. "You don't mind if we cancel that walk, do you, Cosette?"

She shook her head. "Not at all. The burial's bound to be near the church, and I've wanted to visit there ever since we got here. Did you go in there, Papa, when you were in Digne?"

"I did."

"What did you think of it?" Cosette asked earnestly.

Valjean thought for a moment. "I thought...that I had never been closer to God before in my life."

* * *

Two hours later, Jean Valjean and Cosette still sat in the church of Digne. Madame Magloire had been buried, Mademoiselle Baptistine had delivered a heart-warming eulogy, and most of the mourners were beginning to leave.

Valjean had enjoyed being back in the church, but nostalgia only did so much. The pathways of Digne were calling him back, and he was anxious to answer.

He was just about to leave with Cosette, when something caught his eye. Mlle. Baptistine was kneeling at the foot of the altar, an alms-bucket in her feeble old hands. As people left the church, most dropped a few sous into it.

Jean Valjean hesitated. After what Monseigneur Myriel had done for him, it seemed only courteous to be charitable at the funeral of his devoted servant. But should Baptistine recognize him...

Before he knew it, he was moving to the old matron, and, reaching into his wallet, place ten francs into the jar.

"Monsieur!" Baptistine gushed. "You are too kind!" She smiled up at him, and Valjean noticed that two teeths had fallen out. He nodded kindly, and was about to turn and leave, when he saw her face fall in an expression of remembrance, which quickly turned to fear. "It's you!" She whispered, sounding more shocked than horrified. "You were that man, the ex-convict! Jean Val-"

"Shhh!" Valjean silenced her. "Mademoiselle, I implore you, do not call me by that name here. The man you knew as Jean Valjean is nothing now; his story ended the moment he left this house, and another one began; one of a new man. That new man's name is Fauchelevent, and he'd be very grateful to you if addressed by that name."

She nodded. "As you wish, Monsieur...Fauchelevent. Now I must ask you; why have you come back here?"

Jean Valjean looked about the church. All the mourners were gone, and only Cosette that remained, watching him expectantly from the doors.

"You may leave, Cosette. There are just a few things this good woman and I have to discuss."

Cosette nodded, and though she was clearly confused by what he meant, she walked out into the churchyard.

"Who is that girl?" Baptistine inquired. "Is she your daughter, monsieur?"

Valjean shook his head. "She imagines so, but in truth I am only her guardian. Ten years ago, I didn't even know she existed. But I promised her mother that I would take care of her, and I have done so ever since." His tone implied that he wished to say no more on the subject.

"And you care for her greatly? She means much to you?"

"More than anything." Said Valjean firmly. "In fact, she is the reason that I have returned to Digne."

"What do you mean?" Asked Mlle Baptistine.

Jean Valjean sighed. He'd confessed this much to this woman; why not say all? "A week ago, I discovered that Cosette had found a lover; some damnable young student she'd met once in a tenement, and several times in the Luxembourg Gardens, I suspect. I couldn't have her dabbling in emotions that she's much too young for, and with an old nemesis back at my heels, my only thought was to escape Paris for the time being and find peace. I have never greater peace than in Digne, thanks to your brother, and so here I am."

Baptistine was silent for a few moments after his confession. "I don't understand," She began. "What is so terrible about this young man? Why do you disapprove of him so?"

"_Why?_" Valjean echoed her, suddenly growing angry. "Why do I disapprove of him? Because he's merely looking for an adventure, a love affair. A love affair! And I? I who have been the most wretched of men will be made the most deprived if he succeeds. After living for sixty years on my knees, suffering everything that can be suffered, growing old without ever having been young, living without a family, without a wife or children or friends; after returning good for evil and kindness for cruelty; after making myself an honest man in spite of everything, after repenting all my sins... after all this, when at last I have received my reward, now it is to be snatched from me! I am to lose Cosette, and with her my whole life, all the happiness I have ever had, simply because a young oaf fancies her pretty face and idling in her garden!"

At his harsh words and raised voice Mademoiselle Baptistine almost wilted into the steps, her bony face filling with fear and apprehension.

Valjean took a deep breath. He hadn't realized he'd been shouting. "Forgive me, Mlle. Baptistine. I'm very sensitive when it comes to Cosette's safety, and to my past."

"Even the gentlest man can hide a wolverine inside him." Baptistine said kindly. "I understand your pain, Monsieur Fauchelevent, although I cannot claim to have witnessed much of it. But it seems to me that the problem is not this young man; it is your zealous love for your daughter."

Valjean stared at her, dumbstruck. "What?"

"That you love Cosette greatly, I do not doubt. But Monsieur Fauchelevent; you love her too much. You just said yourself that you've for so long lived without a family, and with Cosette by your side you give her not only your love for a daughter, but for a mother, sister, wife and niece as well. It is not protectiveness that has caused you to flee to Digne, monsieur; it is fear. You are afraid of this young man, and jealous as well, jealous that Cosette has someone else to be close with. It is that fear and jealousy which will drive a nail between you and Cosette, if this continues on its rocky course. She will always love you, I am sure, but she loves this boy as well."

"But she doesn't even know what love is!" Valjean protested. "How can she favor Pontmercy over me, or at least love both of us without pushing out the other?"

"Because love is everlasting." Baptistine said simply. "God fated Cosette to meet this boy-Pontmercy, you called him?-but he also fated her to continue to cherish you. And if you truly cherish her, then you should allow her to follow her heart. My advice, Monsieur Fauchelevent? Return to Paris, and set her free. It would be a strengthening to your relationship and not a hindrance, I think."

Jean Valjean sat down beside the crone, trying to reorganize his thoughts. He'd come to Digne with a very clear reason for doing so. Now he wasn't so sure. Was it really his right to hold on to Cosette so, like a miser and his coin? Could Marius really be her true love and not her ruin?

"Mademoiselle," He said. "Is it a sin, what I have done, in hindering my daughter's romance like this? How grave a mistake is it?"

Baptistine pursed her pale lips. "You are a complex man, Monsieur Fauchelevent. You were godless when you first entered this house, and you have returned here as benevolent as I have known few men to be. Having had no one to love all your life, you invest all into this one person, your daughter. And it has never been to a sin to love, even too much. If my brother was still here, I believe that he would congratulate you for following the truth that once was spoken."

"And what is that, mademoiselle?" Valjean asked her. "The truth, I mean."

She gave him another gap-toothed smile. "To love another person is to see the face of God."

* * *

Later that evening, in their rooms in Labarre's inn, Jean Valjean called Cosette over to him.

"I know about Marius." He told her.

Her eyes widened. "How?"

"I heard you two talking in the garden, the night Inspector Javert came to our house. I lied, Cosette. I'd never planned this trip at all. I did it to take you away from Paris. From him. I was...afraid, I suppose, and perhaps a bit jealous as well. But today, an old friend showed me my error, and I must apologize for what I've done. If you like, we could leave tomorrow morning."

Cosette suddenly burst into tears.

Startled, Valjean asked "What is it?"

"Tomorrow...could be too late." She said, her voice shaky. "Marius is a student revolutionary, Papa. He fights with Les Amis de l'Abaisse to help the poor. They're going to start a riot during General Lamarque's funeral parade, and for all I know he's already dead. Marius tells me that the revolution will succeed, and I want to believe him, but I'm so afraid that he's going to die..."Her voice trailed off.

Jean Valjean came to sit beside her at the table, trying to comfort her. "If this revolution begins by the time we are back home, you have my word that no harm will come to Marius." He promised. "I'll even fight alongside him, if necessary. God has seen the error of my ways long before I did-He always has-and now I must do all I can to correct them. He lives in the Gorbeau tenement, correct?"

She nodded.

"Write a letter to him." Valjean said. "We aren't going back to Rue Plumet; I don't have time to explain why, just know for now it's because of that policeman you met, Javert. I do not want to meet him again. We'll go to our apartment at Rue de l'Homme Arme, it's safer there. Write Marius and tell him that that's where he'll find you."

Cosette's face broke out into the happiest smile Valjean had ever seen; she was the very picture of gaiety. "Oh, thank you Papa, thank you!" She flung her arms around him.

"Whoa!" He chuckled, gently moving her slim body away from his. "You'll have time to thank me later. Now start packing. I'll have a carriage bring us as far north as it can, and hopefully we'll reached Paris by tomorrow afternoon."

She whooped, and began to collect her things, leaving Valjean to brood over his thoughts.

'_One day more._' He thought. '_One day more until Cosette is no longer mine to keep. You have one last chance to back out of this, Valjean. Will you take it?_'

The answer was a profound "No."


	35. A Beautiful Mind

**June 3, 1832**

**Chapter 35: A Beautiful Mind**

All had been going well for Beauvais at the Prefecture that day, until he saw Adrienne in the lobby.

"Adrienne? What are you doing here?" He asked her.

She sighed in relief. "Oh, Francois; you won't believe it. Your friend, Inspector Javert-"

Her words were cut off by the thunderous sound of breaking glass. Beauvais leapt a mile, and ran to look out into the courtyard. A desk had been pushed out of an upstairs window, and papers were flying everywhere.

Beauvais looked up to the desk's point of exit. "Oh, God." He moaned. "This fell out of Javert's office. What the devil is he up to?"

"That's what I was about to tell you." Adrienne huffed. "Yesterday, I saw Javert in the apothecary's shop on Rue de l'Ouest."

"That's nothing remarkable. Javert buys his snuff there."

"I don't mind him buying a few ounces of the stuff, Francois. But Javert left the place with a whole bloody _bag _of it!"

He groaned. "That can't mean anything good." He rushed through the hallway and up the stairs to Javert's main office, Adrienne right behind him.

The door was closed. Not a single sound could be heard to reveal that Javert was inside.

"When was the last time you saw him?" Adrienne asked in a whisper.

"At least two days ago, and even then he looked a bit paranoid. He hasn't been the same since he returned from Rue Plumet. He's convinced that some ex-convict he's been chasing is dead. Thankfully, I've done a bit more investigating, and I think I should be able to snap him out of it."

She snorted. "What, his delusion or his snuff dosage?"

"Hopefully both." Beauvais rapped on the door. No answer. He tried to open it, but it wouldn't move the entire way; it left only a six-inch long gap open.

Beauvais sighed. "Permission to enter the laboratory?" He asked to anyone inside.

"Granted." Responded Javert, his voice husky. There was a scraping sound, like the moving of a table or a chair, and the door swung open of its own accord.

The inside of the office looked like a madman's prison. There was no light save for the sun from the broken window, and papers were tacked up on every available space. A map of Paris and its suburbs had been laid out on the floor, with the areas Rue Plumet, Petit-Picpus, Montreuil-sur-mer and Montfermeil marked in red ink. A time-line had been scribbled hastily along the map's edge, but had been crossed out several times.

Adrienne took a cautious step back. "If you need me to send for the madhouse, you'll know where to find me." She told him, and she turned and left.

Beauvais strutted into the ruined office, inspecting all the bizarre things Javert had done in his solitude. The bag of snuff Adrienne had mentioned was lying empty on the floor, and the snuff-box itself, which lay beside it, was empty as well. The inspector himself was by the broken window, writing something on the remaining glass. He wasn't wearing his inspector's coat, or even his hat of rank.

"I see that you've taken up window art." Said Beauvais, trying to sound cheerful. "Let's see: an empty snuff-box, no lighting save for the sun, you've just smashed your desk to kindling and I'm guessing you haven't eaten in at least twenty hours. Am I correct to assume you're still chasing after your dead man, Jean Valjean?"

"Perhaps." Said Javert weakly. "But it is no concern of yours, Inspector Beauvais."

"As your superior-"

"You're not my superior officer, and we both know it."

"As your _friend_," Beauvais said, louder this time. "I'm afraid it is my concern. Really, I must insist you get out of this room."

Javert sighed, and he tossed the pen he'd been using on the window across the room, which landed into a waste-paper basket. "I have to agree with you, Francois, but; my mind disagrees with suspicious endings. It constantly seeks a conclusion that aligns with all factors, be it the crime, suspect or sentence. Never has there been such an unfitting ending as in the case of Jean Valjean, nor as mysterious. My mind needs fuel to tackle this problem, and..." He waved his hand dismissively.

"And hence the need for snuff." Beauvais prompted.

"Yes. I have a great respect for snuff, as you well know. I never took it regularly, but now..." His voice trailed off again.

"The whole box is empty, inspector. I understand." Said Beauvais. "And may I ask what caused you to push your desk out the window? It was quite a nice desk, after all."

"Anger, perhaps. Frustration certainly. Hopelessness as well. I _know _that this Fauchelevent is really Jean Valjean; but I can't think how to prove it! I must have irrefutable proof if I am to present him to the Assizes."

"I think I may have found it." Beauvais said proudly.

Javert's countenance instantly changed from pessimistic to inquisitive. "Yes?"

"From what I've gleaned from your notes in the past few days, these two men, Valjean and Fauchelevent, worked in the convent of Petit-Picpus at the same time. Your suspect confirmed as much." Beauvais grinned. "Well, I've just come back from Petit-Picpus, and I'm fairly certain that I've just solved your case for you. For the second time, I believe."

"Giving me a spineless, greedy swine like Marceau Chapard is not the same as unmasking Jean Valjean." Javert huffed, a hint of his old rigidness returning. "But no matter. Explain your investigation, Inspector."

Beauvais nodded. "I went to Petit-Picpus, and I asked the nuns if they had once had a gardener named Jean Valjean or Monsieur Madeleine, with a little girl, at any time from 1823 to 1830. They told me, very curtly, that no such gardener had ever existed:the only gardeners during that time were the two Fauchelevent brothers. The second had indeed arrived with a little girl, and when the first Fauchelevent died, he and she left the convent to live elsewhere in Paris."

Javert breathed heavily, like a bulldog back on the scent. "Of course!" He shouted, triumphant. "Once he had arrived at the convent, he could not, of course, tell the nuns his true name, but he no longer wanted to go by Madeleine either. So he masqueraded as Fauchelevent's brother, and once he, not Valjean, died, then-"

"He and the girl left the convent." Beauvais finished for him. "They moved into a quaint little house on Number 55, Rue Plumet, I believe."

Javert hurried to his closet, pulling out his inspector's coat and hastily putting it on. "Beauvais, call for a fiacre. There is an un-paroled ex-convict loose in Paris, and it is up to us to catch him."

"No."

Javert blinked. "What do you mean, _no_?"

"Monsieur, I would love to help you tie up this case tonight. Mostly because it guarantee your return to sanity. But I can't. If you had bothered to come out of this office any time in the past few days, you would have known that the Prefect has given you a new assignment." Beauvais reached into his pocket, and pulled out a crumbled piece of paper. He handed it to Javert.

Javert skimmed it over, a look of disdain spreading across his face. "_Monsieur, you are hereby assigned to investigate the upcoming riots instigated by the radical political group, the ABC Society. These small riots will occur during the funeral march of the newly deceased General Lamarque, and could escalate into the building of barricades around Paris. In the event of this, you will follow the insurgents to one of their bases, incognito, gaining their trust and making them vulnerable to the National Guard, who will be in charge of reprimanding them. Should you survive the event, you will be duly rewarded with a cross of the Legion of Honor._" Javert looked at Beauvais. "This is surely a joke."

"Oh no, they're quite serious. And if you ask me, I'd say that acceptance into the Legion of Honor is well worth your trouble in this affair."

"I'm not talking about the cross, Beauvais. This is an assignment for a lowly copper, not a decorated member of the Prefecture."

"No. It is _your_ assignment, and a righteous result of this endless hunting you've done. Jean Valjean isn't going anywhere. Believe me, he'll still be sitting in his house long after this "revolution" is over."

"Very well." Javert grumbled. "I suppose it could be worse. And in the meantime, Beauvais, I want you to stay here during the riots. I want you to come with me when we arrested Valjean in a few days.'

Beauvais laughed, and punched Javert's arm playfully. "Oh no, inspector. Until I feel like I've been recompensed for all of those hours going on this wild goose chase with you, you're getting more than you bargained for. I asked the Prefect for a special request, you see. I'm your goddamn _partner_ on this mission, and there's nothing you can do about it."


	36. There Are Dreams That Cannot Be

**June 4, 1832**

**Chapter 36: There Are Dreams That Cannot Be...**

Éponine found herself, as the summer began, repeatedly drawn to both the Cafe Musain and to Marius's quarters in the Gorbeau tenement. The former because with General Lamarque dead at last, the situation in Paris was only get more and more critical. Enjolras insisted that the revolution would begin tomorrow, during Lamarque's funeral parade, and the ABC Society was getting ready to channel the storm of the people's' rage. And the latter because, well...

"Your friends must wonder why I come visiting you so often." She told him.

He smiled at her kindly. "Call them _our _friends, 'Ponine." He said. "None of you are strangers anymore, and you get along with all of them. What do you think they could wonder at?"

"Well, we never do what a young man and woman usually do, for one thing." She said.

He frowned. "Don't tease me like that, 'Ponine. I would never consider treating you like that. You're far too good of a friend for me to ever think of you as my mistress."

Éponine hid her mouth behind her hand, so that he couldn't see the full extent of her smile. "But it's true." She said. "I'm not your friend; not to the extent that Enjolras, Courfeyrac and the others are, anyway. But I'm not your mistress either. If anyone ever saw us talking together, in here or in the Musain, they'd probably consider us mad."

"Thank you for the compliment." Marius said dryly.

"I wasn't always this way, you know. Why, if you knew what I was like in Montfermeil...ah, you know that already." Éponine waved her hand. "I've told you that story already, haven't I? That afternoon in the gardens, after Papa and Parnasse hit me. What I'm trying to say now is; why should I act like a proper lady around you? You never ask me to, you're always perfectly happy with who I am. And..."She paused.

Marius looked at her, attentive. "Yes?"

Éponine took a deep breath. She'd never said these thoughts aloud before; not to Marius, not to Azelma, not even to herself. But she'd said this much already. Why not finish it all and say everything? Why not tell him how she felt?

She altered her thoughts slightly, and instead said, "Why should I pretend that I am a lady, when Cosette is the real thing? When she's the one who can always offer the small compliments, the sweet smiles, the lady-like air? I know you think otherwise, Marius, but I faced the truth about what I am a long time ago; a common street rat, little better than riffraff. A simple gamine compared to your Cosette." She almost spat out the word "your."

"What does Cosette have to do with this?" Marius asked.

"_Everything!_" Éponine wanted to scream. Instead, she just smiled cynically. "May I tell you a story?" She asked him. "It's a sad story, so I'll tell it like it's meant for children. Like a fairy-tale."

He nodded.

"Once upon a time, there lived a woman who came one day to a small kingdom." Éponine began. "This woman had a wonderful baby girl, and they were both very beautiful, but no one wanted them because the baby had no father. So one day, she went to the king and queen and begged them to look after her daughter while she went in search of work. She promised to pay them to take care of her until she came back."

"So she abandoned her child to strangers?" Marius asked incredulously. "Why would she do such a thing?"

"I'm sure she didn't want to." Éponine said quickly. "But she had no other choice, the poor woman. But anyway; although the king and queen had promised to take good care of the little girl, they treated her horribly. They forced her to become their servant in the castle and to wait on their two daughters, the little princesses, who were given everything while she was left with nothing."

"Poor girl." Marius murmured.

"Yes." Éponine said quietly. "You would think so, wouldn't you, Monsieur Marius? But you see, things got better for the servant girl. Although she never saw her mother again, one day a strange knight in a yellow suit of armor came from a different kingdom and promised to take her away. And he did." She paused. "And so, in time the servant girl became a princesses herself, lived splendidly in a castle of her own with the kind old knight, and-". Éponine stopped, her voice suddenly caught in her throat. She ground her teeth, and forced herself to finish this part of the story. "And eventually, she met a handsome young prince, and they fell in love, and they lived happily ever after."

Marius looked confused. "I thought you said this would be a sad story." He told her. "The beginning of the girl's life is tragic, certainly, but the end is quite hopeful. What's so sad about that?"

Éponine laughed bitterly. "It's sad, monsieur, if the story happens in reverse; which is exactly what happened to the first two princesses. You see, after the little girl left, the king lost his castle, his fortune; everything. He turned resentful, angry, and bitter. He took his family into the city, and there they started descending into Hell. The two princesses became servants themselves, and... worse things. For the older princess, there were times when she just wanted to fall down in a heap and die."

"So why didn't she?" Marius asked.

"She fell in love." Éponine said, simply yet sadly. "Only he never loved her back. That was the problem, see. He didn't know how she felt about him, because he was in love with someone else; her former servant, in fact, who was now a princess like she'd been. So when the prince and the princess finally got married and lived happily ever after, the former princess took off into the night, hating herself for thinking that he could ever return her love, and despairing that he was lost to her forever, because she never stopped loving him."

"That is the true end of the tale?" said Marius, breaking the silence that had fallen over them.

Éponine shrugged, nonchalant. "It actually _hasn't_ ended yet, Monsieur Marius. It's only how I think it will end, but I know in my heart that I'm right."

"And you...you are the former princess." It was not a question.

"Yes. That is me."

Marius's face softened. "I don't need to guess who the young prince is, do I?"

"No."

"I am sorry, Éponine," he whispered. "So very sorry..."

"_Don't_." She said scathingly. "Just...don't." She turned away from him. She didn't want his pity. That was all he had been able to give her, and she both loved and hated him so much for it. Loving him for reaching out to her like nobody else had, and hating him for not giving affection along with sympathy.

But even her hard heart softened when she saw the glimmer of tears in Marius's eyes. She sat down by him and brushed them away. "Pray don't weep for me, monsieur; a long time has passed since the day she met that prince. She has learned to accept her fate."

"Or rather, no time at all." He said, his voice breaking. "I'd always suspected that you were being constantly wronged by someone; that was why you always seemed so downtrodden. But I'd always thought it was your father, or Montparnasse, maybe, who was responsible. Poor, dear Éponine, why didn't you _tell_ me?"

"I never planned on telling you. Not after I lead you to Rue Plumet. In all these months that I've spent time with you, since I brought you to Cosette, I've wished to say it, but I didn't. I never thought of revealing my feelings about you."

"Yet now you reveal them to me."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Now Éponine could feel her cheeks getting very warm, and her eyes blurry with tears. "Because tomorrow, we might all be dead on some barricade in this bloody revolution." She whispered to him. "You, me, Enjolras, maybe even Gavroche...everyone we know. And before we die, I want you to know. I also never told you because... I was afraid."

"Of what?"

"Of that you would hate me!" And with that, she buried her face into Marius's shoulder.

He stroked her hair awkwardly, trying his best to comfort her. "Shhh...shhh...it's alright, 'Ponine, it's alright." He consoled. "I could never hate you. _Never_, I swear it."

But now that she'd finally admitted her feelings, the rest of her secrets came tumbling out of Éponine. "Oh, Marius...if you only knew. I knew all along that Cosette lived on Rue Plumet, even before you asked me to find her for you. I didn't tell you that right away, because I knew what would happen if I did. I would lose you for good, without ever having you to begin with. Worse, I would lose you to _Cosette_, the Lark, and she could finally say that she now had everything that was once mine. But then I read your letter to her, and I told myself, "_Can't you see that it will make him happy if he finds her? Maybe if you make him happy with her, he'll like you more because of it. You could actually be a good friend for once, and maybe even a good person." _

"So I brought you to Rue Plumet. I screamed for help when Patron-Minette was about to break into the house. I helped you kill Montparnasse. I've done so many things for you and her, and I don't even know _why _I'm doing it." She wailed. "And for every thing that I do to help you, I'm doing something to stop you. I'm so sorry, Marius; I hid her letter from you, Cosette's letter! She gave it to me to give to you, and I kept it from you." Éponine dug into the folds of her dress, and produced the letter that Cosette had written the week before. "She never left France at all. She just took a trip with her father to some mountain town for a little while. I made you think that the love of your life had left you without a word of explanation. Why would I do such a thing?"

She started to cry, and her tears shamed her even more than her words. Marius had seen her beaten in the street, and she'd hardly reacted at all. She'd attacked Montparnasse without a moment's hesitation. He'd called her the bravest person he knew, that cold February day in the Jardin du Luxembourg. And here she was, sobbing like a baby.

"You did it," Marius began slowly, as though he were choosing his words carefully. "Because you were in love with me."

Éponine tried for a smile, but failed. "I suppose that's it, isn't it? But Marius...I hardly know what love is. Who, aside from Maman, Azelma and Gavroche, has ever cared a fig over me, Éponine Thenardier? I was afraid that if I told you how I felt, you would turn me away, like all the others I've tried to love, especially if you learned how much I've lied to you. And really; what could you _ever_ find in me to love?"

Marius squeezed her hand. "More than you might think." He told her quietly. "You're too hard on yourself, Éponine. Where you see only despair and tragedy, I'm sure that others see hope, as love as well."

"I _want_ to believe you. It's just...I can never seem to find the words to..." Éponine took his other hand in hers, and before she knew what she was doing, she kissed him on the mouth.

Oddly enough, he didn't shrink away from her. Instead, he responded, hesitantly at first, then with shy but eager pleasure. At last their lips parted and he retreated, but only slightly, their hands still clasped.

"Éponine." Marius said urgently, his face reddening. "There's something I have to tell you straightaway..."

Éponine's heart soared. Oh, how she'd dreamed of this moment! "Yes?" She asked, unable to keep the gaiety from her voice.

"Yesterday, I asked Cosette to marry me."

Éponine blanched. That was _not_ what'd she been expecting. She felt as though her head had just been relieved of all its cares, only to plunge into a bucket of ice water. "_What_?"

"I already knew that she hadn't left France. I met her yesterday at her apartment on Rue de l'Homme Arme. I apologized for not receiving her letter-thanks to you, I now understand why-and... I asked for her hand. If I could gain her father's and my grandfather's consent, we would be married after the revolution."

The world around Éponine seemed to rock violently. Her legs felt wobbly. She made a desperate attempt to breathe normally, but failed. Her hands broke away from Marius's, which only made her heart fall even further. The lights in the sky-which for five months had shone more brightly than ever-were starting to go out.

Marius seemed to take notice of her discomfort. "Are you alright?" He asked.

Éponine stood up, trembling. "I'm fine, monsieur. Everything's fine." She said, her voice incredibly shaky. "I would just like to say that I hope that you and Mademoiselle Cosette will be very happy together. Goodbye." Then she turned around and ran.

"Éponine!" Marius called after her. But she was already too far gone. She ran out of the tenement, down the boulevard, with no idea where she was going, except to get farther and farther from that horrible place where her heart had died.

* * *

She at last collapsed at some bridge above the river. She didn't know where she was now, nor did she care. Her mind was saying to her evilly, '_You stupid girl! He never could love you, and now he never will! Go, take off like the princess in the story. You told him that you knew you were right._'

But another part of her said '_But he doesn't _hate _you, either. He said so. He said that he could never hate you, and that was what you feared. Him hating you. He may not love you, but he still cherishes you. He called you his friend.'_

To which the evil part replied, '_Do friends lie to each other? _No_! Once he understands what you've done to sabotage his relationship with Cosette, with the address, the letter, he won't call you his friend. No one will be your friend, once the Amis find out what's happened tonight. You will be on your own, forever._'

Éponine crawled towards the side of the bridge. She remembered that night, after she and Marius had left the Cafe Musain for the first time, they'd walked down together to the embankment on the way home. It had been a beautiful evening. She remembered him making a few small comments about how lovely the river was at night, or the stars in the sky.

She stared down into the Seine's water depths. '_Little did he know that it wasn't the river or the stars that made the night magical!_' She thought mournfully.

The evil part of her brain began to call her again. '_That's it, girl._' It said coaxingly. '_Now you understand. __The lights have all gone out now, and they won't come back on. Jump! Throw yourself into the darkness and be done with it all_.'

Éponine stood up, the wind from the river blowing her hair behind her face. She now stood on the very edge of the bridge. Another few inches, and she would fall into the water. '_Escape_.' Her psyche explained. '_That's what the river represented, that precious moment when you were with him on the embankment. It was your escape from the world of Éponine Thenardier. Now let it be your escape from the world of Marius Pontmercy. Your hopes have failed, Éponine. They've remained a dream out of your reach._'

She leaned forward, the sound of the river growing louder and louder in her ears.

But then the other part suddenly told her, '_It was always just a dream._'

And Éponine's stars blazed with light.


	37. And There Are Storms We Cannot Weather

**June 5, 1832**

**Chapter 37: ...And There Are Storms We Cannot Weather**

Marius collapsed upon the side of the newly built barricade, exhausted.

It had been quite a day. On Enjolras's signal, the Amis had hijacked the colossal funeral hearse of General Lamarque, thus completing stage one of the revolution: claiming Lamarque as the people's' hero, not the Bourbons'. Naturally, the National Guardsmen escorting the hearse weren't very happy about that. Before Marius knew what was happening, there were gun-shots and sword-fights erupting across the street, and the revolutionaries fled to make their stand at the Corinthe. Monsieur and Madame Grosjean hadn't been there to stop them, but their son Julien was only too willing to help them. It had hardly taken ten minutes to build the barricade with all the furniture dropped from above, and now they waited.

So if everything was going so well, why did Marius feel so depressed?

He knew the answer, of course. It was because of Éponine.

She must have felt that way about him for months. Now, all the strange little things Éponine had done for him-telling him to stay inside his room during the attack on Cambriol, telling him Cosette's address-made sense. And he'd been such an idiot about it, because he was in love as well, only not with her.

He would have liked to apologize to her straightaway, and hopefully discover that she didn't hate him as much as she should. But he had no idea where she'd gone after she'd fled the Gorbeau tenement. He'd tried the Cafe Musain and the Corinthe, Gavroche's elephant, Rue Plumet and even Les Madelonettes. But she was nowhere to be found, and now she was absent from the revolution she'd helped to create.

Enjolras, his face grim, came up to him and asked "Have you seen Éponine?"

Marius stood up shakily, and shook his head. "No. Not since yesterday."

"I was afraid of that." Enjolras whistled, and Gavroche materialized at the other end of the barricade. The gamin sauntered over to them, not looking any more cheerful than Eniolras.

"Gavroche, tell Marius what you told me." Enjolras said gently.

He nodded. "Last night, I saw 'Ponine running towards the bridge of Austerlitz. Nobody was chasing after her that I could see, so I followed her to see what was up. But by the time I reached the bridge, but I couldn't see where she'd gone." He looked worriedly at Marius. "You don't think she's in any trouble, do you?"

A weight suddenly clung heavily around Marius's heart. "No, Gavroche. I'm sure that she's fine."

"Then why isn't she here with us?" He asked. "She's worked so hard on this revolution. I'd hate for her to miss it."

"I'm sure that she won't miss it." Enjolras assured him. "Now, run along. The National Guard will be coming soon, and I want every man to be ready for them."

Gavroche perked up at that. "Even the little ones?"

"Yes, even the little ones. Now go!"

The gamin sped off into the Corinthe, almost tackling into Feuilly and Bahorel in his attempt to find a firearm.

Once he had gone, Enjolras turned seriously towards him. "Marius… I would be a very dull fellow indeed if I had never noticed Éponine looking at you the way she did. I know that you would never mean to cause her harm, but I must ask you; do you know why she isn't here?"

"If I did, I would tell you." Marius lied. "But I will let you know if I see her."

Though clearly dissatisfied, Enjolras departed, going off to join Courfeyrac and Combeferre as they and several others continued to build up the barricade.

Marius sat back down on the ground, What if Éponine hadn't left the bridge at all? Could she really have killed herself in her despair over Marius's engagement?

'_That's an ending even more horrible than the one in the fairytale._' He thought.

A young revolutionary was passing by him, a rifle in his hand, when he stopped, and turned to look down at Marius. "You're looking pretty miserable for someone who's fighting in a revolution. And crying a lot more too."

To his frustration, Marius realized that he was, in fact, tearing up a bit. "It's nothing." He told the boy, wiping his eyes. "I'm just…unhappy that a friend of mine couldn't be here as well. She promised me she would be."

The boy laughed heartlessly. "There's not a girl in Paris I know who's worth getting this teary-eyed about. What's her name?"

He was an odd sight, the boy. He was slim and rather athletic-looking, dressed only in trousers, a worn gray shirt, and a long, flea-bitten gray coat on which he'd fastened his rosette pin. He wore a floppy brown cap as well, which partly hid his face and the rest of his dark hair. Marius thought that there was something vaguely familiar about that hat.

"Éponine Thenardier." He told the boy, though he wasn't sure why he was confessing this to him. "She's a girl from Montfermeil, and I just broke her heart yesterday. I feel terrible about it."

The boy nodded, suddenly quiet. "How did you do that?"

Marius looked at him, getting annoyed. "Who exactly are you?" He asked him.

The boy stuck out his hand. "Christian Daaè, monsieur."

He took it. "Well, Monsieur Daaè, how about this; if we last through tonight on the barricade, I'll tell you about Éponine."

"A fair bet." Christian conceded. "Let's hope you live until tomorrow, Monsieur Marius. I'm anxious to hear your story."

He tipped his cap, and went on his way. It was only after he left that Marius realized he had not told the boy his name.

Neither did he see, once Christian had left, the pleased smile spreading across his face. He shook his head in wonder, and as he did so, a long braid of hair fell out from under his cap.

"_Merde_." He muttered, and quickly fixed the cap.

* * *

Later, as night fell, Marius sat with Grantaire and Julien Grosjean inside the Corinthe, each of them quietly sipping their drinks. Marius and Julien opted for water, while Grantaire, naturally, had wine.

"Will your parents be back soon, Julien?" Marius asked.

He grinned. "No, thank God. My father is visiting a friend who lives across town, and my mother went with him. They won't be back for some time, and we may even have won by then."

"And the Thenardier women? Your tenants?"

"The mother left to run some errands this morning, and Azelma went to her new job at the Saint-Clair factory. They'll have the same trouble as my parents in getting back into the Corinthe." He suddenly fell silent.

"What is it?" Asked Grantaire.

"I've been thinking about something...I am certain that we will triumph-if not tonight, then tomorrow, when the people of Paris join us-what if I die before then? What happens if I don't live to see our victory?"

"Then you'll be dead." Grantaire said coldly. "The same as all of those who have died before you, and all those who will follow you."

Marius looked at the drunkard. "Do you even care if we win or lose, Grantaire? Or are you just here for the wine?"

"I care." He said defensively. "This is one of the few things which I take liberty to care about. My point is, Marius; does it matter if we weather this storm, but die in the process? Will we be like the gods triumphing over Typhon, yet still cast down into darkness like the monstrous children of Gaea?"

"I don't know." Said Marius. "I suppose it does."

Grantaire sighed. "That's all good for you, _mon ami._ But as for me, I don't think it will matter. Not a bit."


	38. One Death Avenged

**Chapter 38: One Death Avenged**

Marius was about to make a withering retort to Grantaire, when Courfeyrac rushed into the Corinthe, panting.

"Where is Enjolras?" He asked them.

"No idea." Said Julien. "Why, what's happened?"

"I was with a party of insurgents just now, and while we were scouting out the alleyway of the Rue de la Chanvrerie we found a group of civilians hiding in one of the old buildings. They claimed that they're weren't spies, but a man of my company, a tall fellow named Le Cabuc, he pulled out this knife and..." His face turned fearful. "There's at least twenty others gathering around the body as we speak. If Enjolras doesn't sort this out quick, he's going to have a full-scale mutiny on his hands."

Marius, Grantaire and Julien jumped out of their seats and left the Corinthe with Courfeyrac. It took them only a few minutes to find Enjolras, and Courfeyrac led them to the alleyway he'd described. Just as he'd said, there was a large gathering of people around a truly sinister scene. A trio of civilians were crouching on the ground, their faces terrified, while four revolutionaries halfheartedly pointed their rifles at them. There was a body as well, and a tall man in a black coat and hat knelt beside it, evidently rifling through its pockets.

"Stop!" Enjolras commanded.

The man looked up.

"Are you Le Cabuc?" Enjolras asked the man coldly.

He smiled, showing his yellowed teeth. "Aye. What of my name?"

"Why have you killed this man, and lootting his corpse as well?"

Le Cabuc bowed. "Making this rebellion a bit more profitable, monsieur."

Enjolras was not amused. "We may be fighting against the government, but that does not mean we have to object to their morals. We were certainly don't rob the bodies of the fallen. I will tell you once more to stop this, or else."

Le Cabuc sneered. "I don't think I will."

His face an impassive mask, Enjolras brought out his pistol. "So be it." He pointed it at Le Cabuc.

"No!" A voice cried out.

Every assembled head turned to look at a ashen-faced young boy, who Marius recognized as Christian Daaè. He went to stand in front of Enjolras. "Let me."

The blonde revolutionary looked surprised at this request. "Why?"

Christian pointed a finger accusingly at Le Cabuc. "I have a score to settle with this man. He's much more dangerous than you think, Monsieur Enjolras. I want to be the one to take care of him."

Hesitant, but still willing, Enjolras handed his pistol over to Christian. "Do what you have to do. The man belongs to you." At his command, Le Cabuc's hands were bound, and Christian led him in a sub-route of the alley.

* * *

Éponine shoved Claquesous against the wall, not bothering to undo his bonds. "Do you know who I am?" She demanded.

"What's one bourgeois rat from another?" Claquesous hissed at her.

She threw off her cap and brought her face closer to his. He smelled horrible, like raw sewage. "Alright. How about now, _Claquesous_?"

The criminal's eyes dilated, and he let out a cold burst of laughter. It died out as quickly as it had come, and he spat at her feet. "_Putain_."

"Shut up." Said Éponine. "What are you doing here? I hardly took you for a freedom fighter."

"Things have changed since Chapard got convicted. We hardly realized how indespensable that little prig was to our operations until he was a thousand miles away, serving time in Toulon. Babet, Gueulemer and I got in here through the sewers that connect Pantin to the Rue de la Chanvrerie. They're still down there, waiting for me to turn up with some loot. Clearly, that won't be happening."

"I'm not going to kill you, Claquesous, if you answer this for me; did you kill Alexandre?"

"How in God's name am I supposed to know who that is, 'Ponine? I've gutted quite a lot of trouts in my day."

"His full name was Alexandre Cambriol, a member of _Les Frères Souriant_. He was a criminal, like you, but where you have darkness in your heart he had true nobility. He died on February 17, 1832; brutally murdered in prison by his own gang-members. I have no need to list their names to you. Now; was it you who killed him?"

Claquesous nodded with understanding. "Oh, now I see who you mean. That mangy cur who saved your life at Rue Plumet; biggest mistake he ever made. Because of him, you killed Montparnasse, and we ended up getting arrested."

"I didn't kill Montparnasse." Éponine said fiercely. "Although if the gun had been in my hands and not Marius's, I think I gladly would have. But you didn't answer me straight. Did you kill him yourself, or was it another? Chapard, maybe, or Gueulemer? I need to know."

"Aye, it was me." Claquesous said, his voice low. "Blood for blood, 'Ponine, that's all I cared about. And you know what? You've only got yourself to blame."

She punched him, and his head thumped against the stone wall.

He laughed wickedly. "Oh, by God, that was the easiest punch ever deserved. Is that all you got, lass? Or did you pick up other tricks in trying to keep Montparnasse off of you? Though I doubt you always resisted him."

She punched him again.

"You think you're the last honorable person in Pantin, Éponine." Claquesous told her vehemently. "And look at you now; a warrior fighting for the good of the abased French people. It's a welcome change from a whore and a thief, I'll admit. But you'll never fit in. Tell me; which one of those fine lads is the one whose eye you've been trying to catch? Was it the blonde, with a heart made of marble? Or the curly-haired one, who looked like he was half-drunk? I'll wager it was the pretty boy with dark hair. He looks like he could get you into his bed quite easily."

A third punch.

"You try to tell yourself you're not like us." Claquesous muttered, his voice weakening. He already had an ugly red bruise around his nose and under his eye. "Not like men like me. Much more like your new hero, Cambriol. You're in shambles over his death, and you're here knocking the lights out of me to get revenge. I may not be able to stop you, Éponine, but I don't care. You are a liar and a killer, descending into a whole new world of liars and killers. Paris is just as dangerous than Pantin, I assure you. If there's a God above, He'll judge you for what you do this day."

Éponine raised the gun to below Claquesous' chin. "There is no God above for you, Claquesous. When you die, only hell below will reach out to grab you and drag you down to the deepest circle you deserve. Say hello to my father for me, if you ever run into him."

His eyes widened in fear and hatred. "_You_ go to hell, you wretched little-"

"My name is Éponine Thenardier. Be sure to tell the Devil that when he asks who killed you."

She cocked the hammer.

"For Alexandre." She said quietly.

The gun-shot that followed could be heard at every end of the barricade.

* * *

A few minutes later, Marius was standing on the barricade with Enjolras when they saw Christian passing. He no longer had Enjolras's pistol with him, and he nodded in their direction as he went,

Enjolras returned the nod. "Who is that boy?" He asked Marius.

"Christian Daaè." Said Marius. "I met him earlier."

Enjolras considered this. "And you could hazard no guess as to the grudge he bore this man, Le Cabuc?"

"No," Marius replied. "Why, what are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that there's more to our young Monsieur Daaè than meets the eye." Enjolras said ponderously.


	39. One Death Foiled

** Chapter 39: One Death Foiled**

That evening, the Corinthe barricade was wound as tight as a clock. Everyone expected the National Guard to appear at any moment now, and when they did, they wouldn't ask them politely to leave the barricade. Everyone knew that a fight was coming, which was why Gavroche was trying to stave off boredom by entertaining himself with his rifle.

That nice boy, Christian Daaè, had managed to find him one, and Gavroche had practiced with it for several hours. He hadn't loaded it, of course; he wasn't stupid. He'd kept the bullets and powder separate in his pocket. Gavroche had crouched on top of the barricade and imagined picking off National Guardsmen as they rushed them.

That had been fun, until Enjolras told him sharply to stop fooling around and do something useful. Since no one wanted to trust him with sentry duty, the only task the young gamin had been able to find was helping Julien Grosjean clean the Corinthe's kitchens.

"Yuck!" He gagged, as Julien pulled a pile of dirty plates out from under a cupboard. "Does your father ever clean up this place?"

"I don't think these plates belong to us, actually." Julien commented. "They probably belonged to the old landlady, Madame Hucheloup. She sold the Corinthe to us two years back when we first moved here."

"You weren't born in Paris?" Gavroche asked.

"Not even in the suburbs. I was born and raised in Brittany, far to the west, in the city of Nantes. Do you know where that is?"

Gavroche shook his head, amazed that his friend had come from so far away. He barely remembered living Montfermeil, and that itself was very close to Paris. Julien might as well have said that he came from the moon for all Gavroche knew about Brittany.

"Why did you leave Nantes?"

"My father lost a lot of money after the Revolution of 1830 shook up the government. He had a few relations here in Paris, and with a wife and only child he couldn't think of anywhere else to go. He'd run a butchery out in Nantes, and figured that a wine-shop, with the right help, couldn't be all that different. Old Hucheloup was selling the place so she could go out and retire in Champagne, and my father took her up on her offer. She most likely hadn't bothered to bring all of her old crockery with her."

"I'll say." Said Gavroche, as he scrubbed the plates furiously with a wet towel. "Remind me; what are we doing here?"

"The National Guard hasn't come yet, and we've been here for almost half the day with little time to eat or rest. We have ample supplies, but since we're barracking ourselves near a wine-shop it seems fair to use its stores. Since I live here and help run the place, Enjolras is having me gather up all the spare plates, cups, and food I can find."

"And I'm your kitchen-boy." Gavroche said sullenly. "Can't I do something that doesn't involve me scrubbing pots?"

"You certainly can't go back to playing with your rifle, if that's what you mean. But if you don't want to help out here, you can serve those two gentlemen their drinks." He pointed out a pair of men, sitting silently near the door. "They ordered a coffee and brandy a while ago, and I haven't been able to serve them."

"So now I'm your waiter." Gavroche quipped. "You should consider hiring me, Julien. You seem to like my help."

Julien chuckled. "I'll think on it. Now, scat."

Gavroche filled two cups, one with hot coffee and the other with brandy, and set them on the table of the two men. One of them was older, about fiftywith close-cropped whiskers and a proud bearing, while the other was at least twenty years younger, and twisting his hat in his hands.

As Gavroche made his way towards them, he realized that the older man was staring intently at Enjolras, who was also in the wine-shop, drinking and chatting with Joly, Bossuet, Marius and Bahorel. He tightened his jaw, and moved his right hand, which was underneath the table. What Gavroche saw made him so startled he almost dropped the cups.

The man was holding a gun! And he was aiming it straight at...

Without any thinking, or any proper plan, Gavroche yelled at the top of his lungs "THAT MAN IS ABOUT TO KILL ENJOLRAS! SOMEBODY STOP HIM!"

The Corinthe responded with lightning-fast speed. Bahorel, who was the closest and the fastest, tackled the older man to the ground, while Joly and Bossuet grabbed the younger man by his arms and held him tight. Marius and several other students surrounded them, a few going outside to check for more assassins.

Enjolras, his face more cold and impassive than Gavroche had ever seen, walked slowly towards the two men, who were being roughly handled by his friends. "Who are you?" He asked them severely. "And please, for your own sakes, don't lie to me."

Gavroche, now that he had a better look at the men, recognized their faces. "I know them! They're police inspectors from the Prefecture!" He fixed his gaze on one of them, and couldn't resist cracking a smile. "Well, good evening to ya, Inspector Beauvais. How have you been?"

Francois Beauvais smiled nervously. "'Swell, Gavroche; just fine. Now, if you could be so kind as to tell your friends to-"

"Be quiet." Enjolras snapped at him. He turned to the other man. "Gavroche, do you know who this one is?"

Gavroche examined him for a moment, then nodded. "Aye, I know him. It isn't two weeks since he pulled me by the ear off the cornice of the Pont Royal. I wasn't doing anything wrong, just taking in the fresh air."

"Gentlemen, may I present Inspector Javert, Paris's greatest officer of justice." Beauvais said icily.

Enjolras ignored him and stayed focused on Javert. "Why were you trying to kill me?" He demanded.

"I was trying to cut the head off the snake." Javert stated simply. "My orders from the Prefect are to weaken your defenses until the National Guard arrives to "reprimand" you. They are delayed, for whatever reason, and I have switched to an offense; the greatest way to take out the enemy's defense is to remove the leader from play. The title of leader is bestowed upon you, monsieur, and so your death was quite a simple solution."

"Then it's a shame you've been outwitted by a gamin." Enjolras said dryly. "I've already had one man killed for his crimes at this barricade today, Monsieur Javert. Your death will be an unfortunate addition." He snapped his fingers. "Someone find me a gun. I'll take care of this myself."

Gavroche ran back into the kitchens, and brought back his unloaded rifle. "Will this do?"

Enjolras sighed in exasperation. "By guns I meant _pistols_, Gavroche. A rifle bullet is not the method of execution for a spy."

"Then perhaps you should postpone the execution." Said a new voice. A gray-haired old man was standing in the door-way of the Corinthe, dressed as a National Guardsman, his eyes shifting from Enjoras to Javert.

Jean Valjean had entered the barricade.

* * *

Marius, in a daze, walked towards him, looking truly awestruck. "Monsieur Fauchelevent, I can hardly believe-"

"Shh!" Said Valjean, bringing Marius aside. He talked in a whisper, but so that the other students and Javert couldn't hear him. "Hush now, Marius. Don't be startled. I promised Cosette in Digne that I would allow no harm to come to you during this revolution; a promise, looking back on it, I am almost surprised I made. I must confess, Monsieur Pontmercy, that I have not always liked you-I perceived you as an enemy upon discovering your relationship with Cosette-but if you live through all this, you're going to become my son-in-law, and you and Cosette will become, both in the matrimonial and emotional sense, the same person. I must love you both equally and with no grudges, and that, I think, is by far the easiest challenge God has thrown at me."

Marius smiled, genuine joy spreading across his face. He grasped Valjean's shoulder affectionately."You are most welcome here, monsieur." He told him.

"Hang on," Said Bossuet, eyeing Valjean with suspicion. "Marius, who is this man?"

"Oh, right." Marius said, only now realizing Valjean's non-acquaintance with the students. "_Mes amis,_ this is Monsieur Ultime Fauchelevent. He is Cosette's father."

"Ah!" Joly beamed. "So that is the name of your fair maiden, Marius! It sounds even prettier than I thought it would be."

Marius blushed slightly.

"But why is he wearing an army uniform?" Enjolras insisted.

"Oh." Jean Valjean said, looking down and remembering his attire. "I needed some way to get through into the Rue Saint-Denis. You have no idea how lucky you boys are. There is an even larger barricade on the Rue du Saint-Jacques; almost twelve feet high, I'm told. The revolutionaries there have made such an effective resistance that the National Guard, so far, cannot spare any soldiers to fight you here. But even they will tire eventually, and when a respite is made you will be attacked. And soon.

"But I see that I am avoiding your question. I passed the Rue Saint-Jacques on my way here from Rue de l'Homme Arme-almost got my head shot off in doing so-and there was a dead soldier near me. I needed a disguise to sneak through the lines, so I took it off him."

"How resourceful of you." Enjolras appraised. "But tell me, Monsieur Fauchelevent; why should we wait in killing these spies?" He looked back in disgust at Javert and the younger policeman whom Valjean now recognized as Beauvais from the robbery investigation.

To be truthful, Valjean did not know why. Realistically, he should be advocating Javert's death as strongly as Enjolras; this man had hounded him relentlessly for seventeen years, determined to drag Valjean back to the horrid, squalid life he had sworn away forever. So why wasn't he?

Perhaps it was because, as he'd realized before, that Javert, as a man, was guiltless of all the injustices he'd done against him. Perhaps it was because of the face of Beauvais, terrified with the uncertainty of whever he lived or died. But what the reason, Valjean could not condemn these men to death.

He still needed an excuse, of course. "They'd make useful hostages." He suggested. "When the National Guard arrives-and they will-it is possible that they will delay assaulting the barricade to rescue two valuable police inspectors."

Enjolras nodded. He ordered Joly and Marius to pick up Javert, while Bossuet had Beauvais. "I don't want any funny business." He warned them. "One false step, and I'll swear I'll-"

He didn't even get to finish. Throwing off Joly and Marius as though they were rag-dolls, Javert slammed his fist into Enjolras's face. He staggered backwards,and in the general confusion Beauvais wriggled out of Bossuet's grasp, managing to run out of the doors of the Corinthe.

From under his coat, Javert revealed a sabre, and slashed wildly in the air when one or the students dared to come too close. Finally, he fixed his attention on Jean Valjean. He inhaled deeply, as though with great satisfaction. He touched Valjean's neck with the tip of the sword.

"You." He said vehemently. "You are a thief, a liar, and a charlatan, and I will _not_ be outwitted again by you, 246-"

There was a loud _thump!,_ and Javert's eyes became glassy. He dropped the sabre and collapsed at Valjean's feet.

Little Gavroche was standing behind Javert's fallen body, holding his rifle by the barrel and breathing hard. "Proud fool." Were his only words.

Enjolras kicked Javert's hand. "Is he dead?"

Valjean checked the inspector's pulse. "No, he lives, though he'll undoubtedly wake up with a headache he won't forget in a hurry."

The blonde student looked at Valjean with newfound interest. "Javert addressed as though he knew you. How is that?"

Before Jean Valjean could answer, Beauvais arrived back at the wine-shop, his own sabre in hand. He must have stashed somewhere inside the barricade. He looked, stunned, at the unconscious form of his colleague.

"Who has done this?" He demanded, his voice quavering. "So help me God, one of you will tell me who did this to him!"

Enjolras picked up Javert's sword and took a protective step in front of Gavroche. "I did." He lied. "He threatened Citizen Fauchelevent."

"Aye, I'm sure he did. And I'm sure he'll thank me for doing the job he couldn't; killing you." With that, he lashed at Enjolras with his sword.

He responded quickly, and well. The two of them battled across the floor of the Corinthe, their swords connecting every few seconds but neither able to land a direct hit. Beauvais slashed open a cask of wine near the bar, and a sea of red liquid spilled across the floor. He'd been trying to trip Enjolras, who was advancing quickly, but Enjolras was steadier on his feet than Beauvais knew. He responded with his own trick. He grabbed a stool and flung it at Beauvais. It crashed right into his chest and sent the young inspector rocking backwards against a table, gasping for breath. He hardly had time to pull a few splinters out before Enjolras fully descended on him, as bright and terrible as the dawning sun.

But even wounded, Beauvais was quick. He spun out of Enjolras's way, and his sword sank half an inch into the table's surface. Before he could remove it, Beauvais struck his first blow; he made an inch-long red gash across Enjolras's hand, and he cried out in pain. Beauvais took a step back, no doubt preparing to thrust his blade into Enjolras's side and be done with it all.

Only he never got the chance. Mustering whatever was left of his strength, Enjolras removed his sword from the table, beat back Beauvais' lunge, and using the ring-guard of his sabre as an iron fist, jabbed Beauvais right in the eye.

Beauvais fell to the ground in a heap. He dropped his sword, clutching his wounded eye. The Amis circled around him like lions around a wounded gazelle, ready to skewer him if he so much as made a move for his weapon.

Enjolras dropped Javert's sword, panting and sweaty. He swatted away Joly's hand when he tried to look at his injured hand, and stood imperiously over Francois Beauvais.

"Do you want to live, Monsieur Beauvais?" He asked softly.

"Very much, monsieur." He answered in a raspy voice.

"Why?" Enjolras asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"Because outside of this barricade, I have people I wish to see again after today. Friends, family...a red-haired woman with beautiful green eyes." He sighed. "It is what I am forced to admire about you revolutionaries. You are willing to sacrifice everything you have for the betterment of others. But I am not so selfless, I'm afraid." Beauvais bowed his head, like a sentenced prisoner before the headsman. "I am ready." He said, making it clear what his expectations were for his fate.

Bahorel handed Enjolras a pistol. He held it over Beauvais' head, standing completely motionless. Beauvais made no sound, nor cried out for mercy; he was stoic in his grim acceptance.

Then, Enjolras un-cocked the pistol, handed it back to Bahorel, and lifted Beauvais to his feet.

It was difficult to guess which party was more surprised by this. Jean Valjean, for his part, felt very proud of Enjolras in that moment; the boy had learned what it means to show mercy as well as how to fight.

"I will have an escort bring you out to the Rue de la Chanvrerie." Enjolras said, his face expressionless. "Should you see the National Guard on your way, give them this warning, from Enjolras: "Woe to the man who trifles with republicans."

"And Inspector Javert?" Beauvais asked. "What will become of him?"

"He will be tried for attempted murder by the people's court tomorrow. If he is found guilty-which is very, very likely-he'll hang. There is nothing you can do for him."

"But do I not share in the same crime?"

"The same crime, perhaps; but not the same personality. And I have a habit of judging a man by his own self and not by the badge he wears." Enjolras motioned towards the door. "You're free to go."

Beauvais looked hard at Enjolras. "You should not be doing this, Monsieur Enjolras. There is no mercy in war."

"Is that a threat?" Enjolras asked.

Beauvais snorted. "I lived through 1830. That's a promise." He walked calmly through the Corinthe exit, and was gone.


	40. Who Will Be Strong and Stand With Me?

**Chapter 40: Who Will Be Strong and Stand With Me?**

As night approached, the students and workers of the Corinthe barricade were ready for battle. Enjolras had put sharpshooters up on the balconies and rooftops. Monsieur Fauchelevent, whose skills with a gun he'd demonstrated very effectively, was in charge of that squadron. Joly and Combeferre remained inside the Corinthe, ready to tend any wounded. Jean Prouvaire, Julien Grosjean, and Feuilly had command of the riflemen spread out across the barricade. Courfeyrac was with Enjolras at the flag, which had quickly become the rallying point for all the revolutionaries. Bossuet and Bahorel were in charge of dragging any wounded out from the no man's land of the Rue Saint-Denis (which Bossuet, given his rotten luck, was very unhappy about). Where Grantaire was, Marius hadn't a clue.

He'd been stationed with Enjolras at the top of the barricade. The worker boy, Christian, was near him, fiddling with his gun.

"You look nervous." He said, trying to sound casual.

He nodded. "I am. I wish I wasn't."

"Don't be afraid." Marius soothed. In truth, he was a bit frightened as well. Of course, who wouldn't be? "Everyone here knows what the risks are and what they're fighting for. I would trust Enjolras with my life, if it comes to that. We're in good hands, Christian."

"It's not myself I'm worried about, Marius. I...I don't want you to die." His voice became softer, almost like a girl's.

Marius felt strangely touched by Christian's concern. He'd hardly known him for a day, but he somehow felt as though he'd been a friend for much longer. "That's very kind of you, Christian. I promise that I'll to...not die, I guess."

"Aye, you'll promise." Christian said, peering over the barricade. "But can you keep that promise?"

* * *

No one knew when it happened, but some time after nightfall, before the National Guard came, the small, high voice of Gavroche could be heard singing on the rooftops. It wasn't the typical gamin-style song. It was almost like an anthem; an anthem of the people.

"_Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men?_

_It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again._

_When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums,_

_There is a life about to start when tomorrow comes."_

Slowly, the Amis added their voices to his own, no one really knowing the words, but somehow still knowing what to sing.

"_Will you join in our crusade? Will you be strong and stand with me?_

_Beyond the barricade, is there a world you long to see?_

_Then join in the fight that will give you the right to be free!"_

It wasn't long before the entire barricade was one huge chorus. Aside from his own, Marius could discern the voice of old Fauchelevent with his sharpshooters, Enjolras beside the red flag, and even Christian Daaè, all his fears gone.

"_Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men?_

_It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again._

_When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums,_

_There is a life about to start when tomorrow comes._

_Will you give all you can give so that our banner may advance?_

_Some will fall and some will live, will you stand up and take your chance?_

_The blood of the martyrs will water the meadows of France!_

_Do you hear the people sing? Singing the song of angry men?_

_It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again._

_When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drums,_

_There is a life about to start when tomorrow comes."_

No sooner had their battle cry ended than did Marius feel truly ready to fight at last. Of course, no sooner had they finished than they first saw the uniformed bodies of the National Guard, coming towards them.


	41. Rain Will Make The Flowers Grow

**Chapter 41: Rain Will Make The Flowers Grow**

The National Guard fell in formation quickly, loading their rifles and waiting for the order to shoot. Even from this distance, Marius could see the toll they had taken at the Rue du Saint-Jacques; bullet holes were plentiful on their uniforms, and there were many bloodstains. These were not amateur soldiers; these were veterans who'd been battling all day with very little rest. Marius wondered, if they were here, that the great barricade at Rue du Saint-Jacques had surrendered. He wasn't sure if he really wanted to know.

Their commander, a tall, imposing man with a large moustache, called out "Who's there?"

Grantaire-damn the man!-climbed up to the top of the barricade, raised his tankard, and yelled at the top of his voice "The French Revolution, you sons of-"

"Grantaire!" Enjolras scolded, dragging him back down.

"FIRE!" The commander ordered, and the barricade was peppered with the shots from the soldiers. Around him, Marius saw several men fall, crying out in pain. He and Christian remained unscatched.

"Return fire!" Shouted Enjolras. From their many perches, Fauchelevent and his men fired down upon the National Guard, while Prouvaire, Julien, and Feuilly had their fighters aim for the more grievously wounded and better armed. A number of bodies fell the ground, moaning.

The revolutionaries paused to lay low and reload their weapons, but the National Guard will allow no rest. They advanced almost immediately, those with already reloaded muskets firing up at the sharpshooters, with several casualties. They began to ascend the barricade.

"Wait for it." Enjolras told them. "You all know the plan. Stick with it."

Marius nodded, and gripped the sword at his side. It had belonged to Inspector Beauvais before he left. Others were not so well-armed; all the Amis had swords, yes, but many revolutionaries had to contend with knives, pikes, or even sharpened sticks. Christian Daaè had a knife that even when sheathed seemed quite sinister. It reminded Marius of the _lingre_ that had almost killed Alexandre Cambriol in the Gorbeau tenement. How ironic it would be if it was!

Enjolras's plan was simple. The soldiers' guns were more unreliable at such close range, so that it would be simpler to strike at them with hand weapons while they fumbled with bayonets. Repel, reload, fire, repel. Their best way to succeed was if the method of attack was timed to perfection, and Marius had faith that Enjolras could manage it.

Marius was just beginning to see the red and blue uniforms above him when Enjolras yelled "Now!", and the revolutionaries sprung up to face the enemy, their weapons in hand. Taken momentarily by surprise, the National Guard did not have time to use their bayonets before they found themselves on the receiving end of the Amis' swords.

All the soldiers staggered back, suddenly fearful of any other tricks they might have. They retreated just far enough to return to the range of fire, and their guns were now reloaded.

They fired again, bringing down more of the National Guard, to the cheers and hoots of the Amis. But the soldiers fired as well, and more revolutionaries fell.

Marius was beginning to become doubtful. Could they really hold them off like this forever? Enjolras's idea with the pikes were clever, but they still needed their guns to shoot the soldiers with, and the National Guard was better supplied with bullets and gunpowder than they were.

Gunpowder...

As in answer to his thoughts, a small barrel of gunpowder appeared beside him, inside a box that made up part of the barricade. He took it out and picked up a fallen torch that was close to him. He turned to Christian, who was using a pistol he'd found to fend off the approaching soldiers.

"Can you help me with something?" He asked quietly.

Christian nodded. "Anything."

"I need you to cover me while I get to the top of the barricade with this gunpowder."

"What are you going to do with it?"

Marius shrugged. "Something crazy."

To his surprise, Christian nodded again. "I'll do it." He said firmly.

Marius pointed to a staircase that ran along the walls of the barricade. "I want you to stay there and pick off any soldiers that get too close to me. You do _not_ come any nearer to me, do you understand?"

"I understand." Christian mumbled.

"Good. Oh, and it's only a bluff." Said Marius.

Christian asked, "What is a bluff?", but Marius didn't have time to answer. He made his way to the top of the barricade, dodging gunshots, bayonets, and rifle butts as well as he could. Twice, he saw a musket of the National Guard bear down on him before its owner collapsed, and he knew it was the work of Christian.

He was almost to the top when he saw a third musket barrel above him, but a hand reached out and turned it away from him as it fired. Marius didn't even have time to look and see who it was.

"Fall back!" He yelled once he had reached the top. He hit an approaching soldier with the torch. "Fall back or I blow the barricade!"

"Blow it up and take yourself with it!" The soldier nearest him said, whom Marius recognized as the commander.

He nodded, his pulse racing. "And myself with it." He said resolutely, and moved the flaming torch closer and closer to the barrel.

The commander's eyes widened in fear, and he waved a hand to his men. "Back!" He shouted urgently. "Back!"

Realizing Marius's plan, the National Guard were only too eager to retreat, and in no time at all they had all fled to the other side of the Rue de la Chanvrerie.

Enjolras came up beside him, and gingerly took the torch from his hand. Marius didn't stop him. He could hardly believe that for the time being, they had won.

He made his way off of the barricade. He was greeted by a mixed chorus of approval and fear:

"Marius, you saved us all!"

"What were you thinking, Marius, you could have gotten us all killed!"

"My life's not your's to risk, Marius!"

There were many more voices like that, but Marius didn't have time to listen. He wanted to find Christian and thank him, but when he looked towards the staircase, the boy was no longer there.

He was about to go and search for him, when a weak voice called out "Monsieur Marius!

Marius turned, startled. "Who said that?"

"I did." Said the voice.

"Who are you?" Marius asked it.

"Éponine."

Marius wondered if he'd heard right. _Éponine_? '_But Éponine is dead!_' He thought. '_She jumped off a bridge yesterday, Gavroche said as much. Could she still be alive_?'

"Where are you?"

"At your feet." She said softly.

Marius looked down, expecting to see the dirty, attractive form of the gamine he called his friend. That was not what he saw.

It was the body of Christian Daaè.

Well, the clothes were Christian's, at least. But he had removed his brown cap and placed it over his chest, showing a long mess of black hair which could only have been his sad friend's.

"Éponine!" He cried, crouching down beside her. "You're here! You came! But...what's wrong with you?"

"I've been shot." She said weakly.

"How? I told you-well, I told Christian-to stay on the stairs."

She nodded. "But do you remember a hand reaching out to divert the rifle that was aimed at you?"

"Yes."

"It was mine."

"_Your's_?" Marius repeated, astounded. "You poor girl; why would you do such a thing?"

She tried to smile. "You know why."

"Oh. Right." Said Marius, momentarily forgetting the words passed between them yesterday in Gorbeau House. "Well, let me help you up. Joly and Combeferre are inside the Corinthe, they'll make you better."

He took hold of her arm, but she cried out, and her hand went to her shoulder.

Marius released his grip. "Where are you hurt?"

"My shoulder. I meant to put the gun over my hand, but my grip slipped and it went through my shoulder instead. I can walk, but it may hurt."

Tenderly as he could, Marius lifted her to her feet. It started to rain, and small drops drizzled around them, making their clothes wet.

"Are you feeling any worse?" He asked her as she limped to the wine-shop. "Or do you not know?"

She let out a rattling laugh. "Are you serious? A little fall of rain can hardly hurt me now. You're here; that's all I need to know."

Once they were inside the Corinthe, Marius had Joly clear a table for her. If he was surprised by Éponine's sudden appearance, he didn't show it.

"I have some opium with me." Joly told Marius. "It will help her sleep when we take the bullet out."

He lifted his head, suddenly hopeful. "She'll live, you mean?"

"I don't know yet. If the bullet has hit any vital organs or bones, or if I can't remove all of the fragments..." He didn't finish, and Marius didn't want him too.

"I want to speak with her." He told Joly. "Before you drug her, I want to talk to her. I _must _talk with her."

Joly looked at his watch. "You have two minutes." He said. "Any longer than that, then I can confirm that by sunrise Éponine's body will be left to the alley."

Marius nodded, and shooed the medical student away so that he could talk to Éponine in private. He took her hand, and slowly she wrapped her fingers around his.

He kissed her wet forehead. It was no infidelity to Cosette; it was a thoughtful and gentle message to an unhappy soul.

"I'm here, 'Ponine." He said, not sure if she could hear him. "I'm here, just like you want me to."

Her eyes slowly opening, she said "Marius...am I forgiven now, for trying to keep you away from Cosette?"

He stared at her. "Forgiven? Oh, Éponine; it's you who must forgive a thoughtless fool. It's you who must forgive a thankless man. You are a saint, for saving my life today. All the petty things involving the address and the letter call for no forgiveness, only forgetfulness. But if it makes you happy, _mon amie_, then I forgive you for them."

""Happy".." She said longingly, as though savoring the word."For so long, you have no idea how empty that word was to me, Monsieur Marius. What is happy in Pantin? Nothing. What is joyful, or merry, or even hopeful? Nothing. Only darkness, and when the darkness comes it brings tragedy upon its denizens, your _Les Misérables_. For so long, only darkness...until you came. And with that, some meager kind of happiness."

She smiled again as Joly came back to give her the opium. Before she fell asleep, Marius could hear her whisper "Marry Cosette for me, would you? Then, if I die, I'll know that you'll be happy..."

Marius looked at her as she closed her eyes once more, griefstricken. Why was it only now, as she lay dying, that Marius discovered how truly beautiful she was, both inside and out?


	42. Untill the Earth is Free

**June 6, 1832**

**Chapter 42: Until the Earth is Free**

Although few must have slept well that night in the barricade of the Rue de la Chanvrerie, Marius slept the least. Éponine had remained in an opium induced sleep the entire night, and as he'd promised, he stayed by her side for all that time. He fell asleep sometime past midnight, and when he did he had dreams. Éponine kept falling off the barricade after being shot, blood spreading across her shoulder. She would always whisper "You're here...that's all I need to know", before the blood ran across her whole body, and he at last awoke in a cold sweat.

No one was feeling particularly cheerful that morning. By some miracle, their gunpowder had remained safe from last night's rain, and Enjolras had armed sentries patrolling the rooftops for the return of the National Guard. So far, they hadn't come back, but everyone knew it was only a matter of time before the fate of the revolution would be decided here.

At eight o' clock, there was a party of people outside the barricade, waiting to get in. But it was not the National Guard.

It was Monsieur and Madame Grosjean. Madame Thenardier and Azelma were with them, all four looking dumbstruck at the sight of the ten foot high wall of broken furniture in front of their wine-shop.

Looking uncertain, Grosjean held out a white handkerchief and waved it. "We mean you no harm." He called. "We are just trying to return to our home."

He was answered by his son, who was perched on the barricade above them, musket in hand. "I'm sure you are, father." Julien replied. "But I can't guarantee it will be easy."

Grosjean flinched. "Julien?"

"Aye, it's me."

"What the devil are you doing with these...people?" He demanded, and his tone implied that "people" was not his first choice of words.

"Fighting in the revolution, father. What else?"

"But why?"

"It's the wild Breton in me, I suppose. For years, the French monarchy waged war upon our duchy and our old religion, and for what? The spread of their tyranny."

"Yes, but that was hundreds of years ago, Julien!" Said Grosjean, growing exasperated of this banter. "Breton sovereignty is long gone, and we are first and foremost French citizens, loyal to our King and country. So; what do you have to say for yourself?"

Julien considered the question, and then cocked his gun. "_Vive La Republique._"

Azelma yelped. Grosjean's face purpled, and the two madams stepped protectively in front of their daughter and husband.

"I don't want any harm to come to you, father." Julien said calmly. "Or any of you. But until we have succeeded, this wine-shop is property of the Second French Republic, and I its proprietor. You shall not pass through this barricade."

"_I_ am the proprietor, you little libertine!" Grosjean shouted hotly. "Radical! Insubordinate!"

Julien fumed. "I'm going to give you one last chance to-"

"Wait!" Marius said, climbing up beside Julien. "Don't you think Azelma and her mother have a right to see Éponine?"

Julien's grip on the gun froze.

"What do you mean?" Asked Azelma, her voice quavering. "Is something wrong with 'Ponine? Is she hurt? Oh please, Julien; let us in!"

The boy sighed in surrender. "If the National Guard comes tailing behind you, you shouldn't count on me to save you." Though his words were harsh, his tone conveyed some form of affection as he ordered the barrier to moved, so that the party of four could enter.

Gavroche, whose tousled hair and sloppy dress indicated that he'd just awoken, seemed very surprised to find his mother and sister at the barricade. "What's the two of you doing here?"

"We live here, remember, 'Vroche?" Azelma said gently.

"Oh. Right. You moved out of that dark, smelly Gorbeau place after Papa died."

"Monsieur and Madame Grosjean have simply returned to be home, but Maman and I are here to see Éponine."

Gavroche frowned. "That can't be right. 'Ponine ain't here, 'Zelma. She never came to the barricade at all."

Julien snorted. "If that's true, then who's the girl spread out across Joly's table?" He said before Marius could stop him.

Azelma grabbed the boy's arm. "So she is hurt?"

He nodded. "She was shot."

With those three words, Azelma rushed inside the Corinthe, her mother and brother close behind. Marius went with them, knowing that it could be up to him to explain Éponine's actions.

"No!" Gavroche cried out upon seeing his sister's motionless body. He turned to Joly, who was tending her. "Is she dead?"

Joly shook his head. "Combeferre helped me remove the bullet from her shoulder last night. She's very lucky; it was a clean wound, no infections, and all she needs now is some stitching up. Assuming she doesn't throw herself in front of muskets again, she's going to live a long, normal life."

Azelma laughed bitterly. "Few things are "normal" in the life of a Thenardier, monsieur."

Marius told Joly politely to leave, so that the Thenardiers might have some time alone. He complied, and left them with Éponine.

Gavroche stroked her hair gently. "What did he mean, "throw herself in front of muskets"? Is that how she got hurt?"

Marius nodded, wondering how much he should say. "I'm afraid so. She saved my life from a soldier's rifle by taking the bullet for me, quite literally."

"You?" Asked Gavroche. "Why would she risk dying to save you?"

"Because..." Marius began, but then he noticed the look in Azelma's eyes, and he stopped speaking. Her eyes, told him, all too clearly, that she knew that Éponine was in love with Marius, hence her reason for risking her life. Her eyes also warned him not to say this-not yet-to Gavorche and Madame Thenardier."

"Because I'm her friend." Marius said. "And friends look out for each other."

Gavroche nodded, satisfied with this answer. Then he clenched his fists. "When the National Guard come back, I'll make them pay for what they've done."

As if on cue, the loud, rhythmic sound of the Guardsmen marching came into earshot, returning once more to the Corinthe barricade.

Gavroche, his eyes alight, ran out of the Corinthe.

"Gavroche!" Azelma shouted after him. "Wait, wait Gavroche!"

Either he didn't hear her, or if he was simply ignoring her, Marius did not know. He grabbed his rifle from somewhere, climbed to the top of the barricade, and leveled the gun to face the soldiers.

"Oy, you there!" He yelled. "This is for my sister!" And he fired.

He missed them by a mile, and only succeeded in propelling himself back a foot and getting the National Guard's undivided attention.

"Gavroche!" Courfeyrac yelled. "What are you doing?"

"Not so scary in the daytime, are you?" Gavroche taunted. "Come on! Take a shot at another Thenardier now, I dare you. Bet you won't make it."

In terrifying response, a single shot came flying over the gamin's head, hitting the wall of the Corinthe behind him. Gavroche turned back to his friends, and smiled and waved.

"Get down from there, 'Vroche!" Azelma called shrilly. "You're going to get hurt like 'Ponine, or worse!"

He laughed. "What, by these numbskulls? It's like shooting ducks in a gallery!" To prove his point, he reloaded, and fired again.

The bullet tore a hole through one of the soldiers' hats, and that was all.

"Gavroche, you are no marksman." Enjolras told him. "Please, get back down before it's too late."

"You worry too much, Enjolras!" Gavroche jested. "Haven't you ever heard the old gamin saying? "Little people know when little people-"

A third gunshot rang out, but it did not come from Gavroche. It had been fired by one of the National Guard, and the bullet had disappeared somewhere into the little gamin's arm.

"No!" Screamed Azelma.

Gavroche took an unbalanced step back slowly, moving as though he was delirious. And then he fell, as if in slow motion, off of the barricade.

Nobody was close enough to catch him. Even if they had, could they have moved from where they were, dumbstruck by what they were seeing?

Fortunately, Monsieur Fauchelevent could move, and quickly. Coming out of nowhere and running like a man half his age, he scooped Gavroche up in his arms before he could fall.

Marius gasped in relief. "Thank you, monsieur." He told Fauchelevent. Then he shouted "Somebody get Joly! Gavroche has been hurt!"

After a fair bit of searching, the medical student appeared, looking very disgruntled.

"They're just dropping like flies around you, Marius!" He said sharply. "Really, are you sure you're not egging them on?"

"Stop with the banter, Joly." Enjolras snapped. "Will he live?"

Joly took Gavroche gingerly from Fauchelvent's arms and took his pulse. "His heartbeat is faint, but I think he will. The impact of the bullet wasn't even strong enough to knock him out, see?"

Sure enough, the gamin's eyes were open. "Fight." He managed to say. "Little people know when little people fight. That's the saying."

"Obviously, they don't." Marius scolded, but he messed up his friend's hair affectionately as he said so. "Joly's going to bring you into the Corinthe near Éponine, alright? You'll both be fine."

Joly was just about to walk away when a voice called out "You at the barricade, listen to this!" It was the commander of the National Guard.

"I came here to fight my country's malcontents, not to slaughter children." He continued. Perhaps he believed Gavroche to be dead. "The people of Paris sleep in their beds, and the barricade at Rue du Saint-Jacques will fall any minute now, I'm told. You have no chance; no chance at all. Why throw your lives away? Strike your flag, lay down your weapons, and we shall show you clemency. If you do not, then I will send for the cannons. They'll make quick work of you, I'd imagine."

There was a disarming pause of silence.

"I wait for a reply!" The commander yelled impatiently.

"Enjolras, what do we do?" Asked Courfeyrac nervously. "If Saint-Jacques is indeed about to fall, what chance do we have?"

"None." Confirmed Joly. "We can hold them off for a day, at best. Four hours at worst, if they do indeed use cannons. We will die, Enjolras."

"Yes," Enjolras said softly. "Yes, we will die." He turned towards his friends. "But _mes amis_: let us die facing our foes, not waiting to hear our sentence and be guillotined! Let us make them bleed while we can!"

Bahorel nodded, and cracked his knuckles. "Make them bleed through the nose!"

"Make them pay for every man!" Gavroche managed to say.

"Let others rise," Enjolras said, his words stirring them, as he picked up a rifle and raised it. "To take our place, untill the earth is free!"

"UNTILL THE EARTH IS FREE!" The barricade responded. It began an immediate chant, and Marius was surprised to find not only the revolutionaries and the students saying it; Monsieur Fauchelevent said with them, the Thenardier women too. Even the Grosjeans were taking it up! "Until the earth is free! Untill the earth is free!" They cried over and over again.

The commander's voice shouted above them, ending their revelry. He cried out a single word of command that struck fear in all their hearts.

"Cannons!"


	43. A Far Better Rest

**Epilogue: A Far Better Rest**

**A/N: Well, folks, that dreadful day has come. This is the very last chapter of "No God Above". :( Very sad. Thanks so much for reading!**

**This epilogue is dedicated to Almost an Actress (a faithful reader and friend for so long, and who has left so many great reviews) and AzureOtter (a most excellent writer, and another constant reviewer). Thanks guys!**

**Enjoy and review!**

* * *

Slowly, Éponine opened her eyes. But when she did, she did not see what she expected.

She was at the barricade still, but Marius was no longer beside her. The rain had stopped falling outside. And as she looked around, she saw that the entire wine-shop, the entire barricade, even, was deserted.

"Enjolras?" She called. "Marius? Julien? Where are you all?"

"Well, that's a bit rude." A familiar voice said. "No hello for your old friend?"

She sat up and turned her head, hardly daring to believe it. But indeed, a man in a dark coat and hat was walking towards her, smiling.

"Alexandre!" She cried. She sprang from the table and flung her arms around him, hugging him tight.

"Whoa there!" The former thief chuckled. "Easy now, girl."

She stepped back by way of apology. "Sorry. It's just...I've wanted to get a last chance to speak with you, after that night at the Rue Plumet, but before I could you..." Her voice wavered.

Cambriol smiled sadly. "I died, you mean."

"Yes. I spoke with Gavroche, after you and the rest got arrested. He told me that Claquesous killed you and Papa."

"Aye, he did." Cambriol agreed. "And your father and I had to wait in that terrible afterlife where the murdered must live whilst their murderer walks free. But today, Éponine, you killed Claquesous here at this barricade, and our souls were released."

"I wish only your spirit had gone free." Éponine said bitterly. "Papa deserves to burn in that afterlife for longer than a few months."

"Do not say that!" Cambriol said sharply. "And more so, do not hate the dead. You gain nothing but anger from it, for they cannot return any emotion of their own."

"I still hate him." Said Éponine, getting a little angry now. "I've wanted to say that I hate him for years, and now that he's dead I'll never be able to say it to his face. I can't even say it to his tomb, I don't know where they buried the wretch. And now Marius and the Amis are fighting their revolution without me...I can't give up now, but I'm stuck here." She glared at Cambriol. "And on top of that; how am I speaking to you? Am I...am I dead?" She asked fearfully.

Cambriol shook his head. "No, Éponine, you aren't dead. But you are so close to Death's abyss that I am able to steal a few moments to speak with you before your spirit returns to the mortal world. I wanted to thank you, Éponine, for all that you have done for me. What I said at the Rue Plumet was true; you were my rose in the underworld. But most of all, I want you to know that I do not blame you for my death. It's thanks to you that I have her again." He turned his head and smiled warmly at something Éponine could not see. Then, in a shower of light, a woman appeared at Cambriol's side.

Éponine gasped. She was breathtakingly beautiful. Her hair was shorn, but her teeth were as white as pearls, especially when she smiled like she was now. She was dressed in a gown that caught the light of the nearby candles, giving her an almost angelic personage. And Éponine knew who she was. Her hair and facial features greatly resembled Cambriol's.

"You are Fantine?" She asked the woman, completely awestruck.

She nodded, smiling. "My brother has told me a lot about you, Éponine. I'm glad to meet you at last."

"And you as well." Éponine studied Fantine's face. There was another person whom she was greatly reminded of, but she didn't know who.

"The last time I saw you, you could not have been three years old." Fantine said fondly. "You didn't talk to me very much, I remember. Of course, I mostly spoke with your mother, about how she would take of my little Euphrasie."

"Euphrasie?"

"Oh, I see. You never learned her true name. Well, Éponine, the girl I am speaking of you know as Cosette. She is my daughter."

Éponine's jaw dropped. "You are...Cosette's mother?" She asked.

Fantine nodded and smiled. "I am. You've been a good friend to her, I'm told."

Épomine laughed. She couldn't help it. "I was _awful_ to her." She said. "Me and 'Zelma...we treated her as though she was a dog. We were pampered like dolls while she was dressed in rags, and we did nothing to stop it."

"Perhaps." Said Fantine. "But you were a child then, those years in Montfermeil. I'm talking about now. You brought her Marius to her, and now her life will blessed. For that, I thank you with all my heart."

Cambriol pulled a watch out of his coat pocket, which made Éponine wonder what time it could be in this spirit-world. "Our time is up, _chère soeur._ Monseigneur will be expecting her."

"Ah, quite right." Fantine smiled at her one last time. "Goodbye, Éponine. I hope we meet again someday."

She became enveloped in a golden halo once more, and was gone.

"Wait!" Said Éponine, turning to Cambriol. "Alexandre, I have to ask you something."

"Yes?"

"Is everything that I've seen-the empty barricade, you, Fantine-is that all real? Or has it all just taken place inside my head?"

Cambriol laughed as his body began to glow with the same light that had surrounded Fantine. "From what I hear, you're very good of imagining things inside your head, Éponine. But that doesn't mean they are all imaginary."

Her friend winked at her before the light covered his face, and he was gone.

* * *

"That's not an answer!" Éponine shouted, frustrated. She stepped forward to where Cambriol had been a moment ago, but she suddenly found that the scene had changed.

She was no longer on the Rue Saint-Denis. She wasn't even sure if she was in Paris. Above her head, an immense marble ceiling loomed, while around her was a stained glass windows collection behind an altar, depicting Christ and the Twelve Apostles.

'_A church._' She thought, though she wasn't sure how she knew. She'd hardly ever been inside a church in her life.

As she observed more of her surroundings, she noticed that a large dining table had been set in an a rectangular room across from the altar and the windows. An old man sat there, eating alone.

But that wasn't the only strange thing. Although everything on the table seemed solid, two items were different: a pair of silver candlesticks. Unless Éponine squinted very hard, they appeared to vanish from the scene, as though they weren't really there.

"Excuse me?" She asked the man, not having anyone else nearby to talk to. "But are you Monseigneur? The one Alexandre spoke off?"

The old man turned his head to face her, and he smiled broadly. "I suppose you could say that. I am certainly the one who brought you here, to my old church. But if you don't mind, you can simply call me Monsieur Myriel. Not many have said my name in a long time, and I'm afraid that someday I will forget it."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, my dear girl. A man's memory is unreliable enough in life; what can he expect of it in death? Now, come here and sit beside me. I won't hold you long, I promise."

Éponine warily took a seat next to Myriel as he broke from his supper. She wondered what the food of the dead must taste like.

"Are you in a hurry, Éponine?" Myriel asked her kindly. "You seem quite agitated."

She realizing she'd been fidgeting. "A bit, monsieur. It's just I've just left some good friends fighting in a battle that I helped start, and my body is either still in a coma or dead. I have to return the barricade and find out what's happening."

"Patience." Myriel soothed. "As I said, I won't keep you long. There is simply something a kindly old man would like to tell you.

"Many years ago, I saved the soul of a broken man who only knew how to hate. I taught him to keep faith, and a girl taught him to love. Now I am sent to you; a broken woman who has known only hate, but you do know how to love. And for that, you shall be rewarded." He noticed the worried look on her face. She'd been thinking of Marius.

"Do not regret your choices, my dear." He continued. "It is good that love has such sorrow as yours, lest men grow too careless with it. But that does not mean that it cannot grow into joy. To you, I make this promise: The day will come where you shall have a far better rest than you have ever known. But it is not up to me to say when that day will be. You must go and discover that yourself."

* * *

_Fin._

* * *

**A/N: Yes, I know what you're thinking. "What the heck, Ibis, what kind of ending is that?" Well, it isn't an ending. Not really. I am currently working on a sequel to "No God Above", called "The Bloody Flag of Freedom", which takes place after the revolution with lots of characters new and old. The story is under works now, and will be published in August. **


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